


put myself away

by vannral



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Bond, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Smut, Friendship, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-09-20 17:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannral/pseuds/vannral
Summary: "His feelings are complicating matters that don’t need complicating, so why - ?- why can’t he just let it be?"Caleb’s heart decides to be an uncooperative little bastard, and after the blood pact, his past comes knocking, among other things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Critical Role hasn't let me go and probably never will so pls have this story that was titled in my folders as 'caleb's pining and shit'. Which is very accurate. Man, those new episodes have been CRAZY like holy shit - threw a few wrenches in this but hey, we'll see how it goes!

Caleb knows he’s being stupid. Good gods above, he knows.

He’s completely and entirely aware of what’s going on, and maybe that’s why it sheds some twisted sense of tragedy on this whole thing.

And _he can’t stop it._ He can’t fix it.

His feelings are blossoming the wrong way, he can’t stop them from growing and _growing_ until his heartbeat like a frantic flutter of humming bird’s wings under his skin _,_ until he’s flushed bright pink and stuttering, until his emotions are a strange and loud chorus echoing inside his very being -  

_But now -_

He bites his knuckles anxiously.

 _Stupid, stupid,_ he thinks. It is useless, it is _stupid,_ his feelings are secondary, his feelings are complicating matters that don’t need complicating, so _why - ?_

_\- why can’t he just let it be?_

His gaze follows Jester’s happy, beaming grin as she dances around Fjord, her giddy affection contagious and pure, and seeing that, something cuts deep behind Caleb’s ribs.

 _Nein, stop it,_ he thinks furiously, tugs his jacket’s sleeve on his abused knuckles and turns to look at the sea. Caleb’s never been one to lie to himself, not really. He knows exactly what he’s done. He knows exactly how worthless he is. How unworthy of love he is.

_(dirty, filthy)_

It’s good to see Jester smiling. It’s good to see her happy after everything she’s gone through. 

And Caleb -

\- Caleb would rather die than cause her pain.

And _Fjord -_

 _-_ Fjord, who gave everything in him to Avantika, _for them,_ for the mission, he did that, and Caleb looked into those desperate amber eyes and thought _Oh. Oh, of course._

_Of course I will right the ship._

_Of course I will keep the group safe._

_Of course, of course, of course -_

At that moment, a rush of nectar-sweet affection spilled through him, washed him clean, crystallised his mind into focus. It’s a feeling that lingered, grew into something tentative until it took root and Caleb was almost startled to realize what it was.

Then it wasn’t a surprise at all.

Jester giggles ahead, her magic sparkling star-like and pink bright on the deck. Fjord watches her with a raised eyebrow, his expression eased into a gentle grin.

_\- of course I won’t cause you pain._

Caleb turns away, an ice cold splinter of dread and heartbreak lodging deep in his chest.

 _Well,_ he thinks with a grim, trembling smile of his own, _is that not a surprise, eh? I can still feel like that._

(he just wishes his feelings wouldn’t be for unavailable people, but such is his luck.)

Cool sea breeze tousles his hair as Caleb leans against the railing, watching how white foam rolls with each passing wave and crashes against the ship’s side. The sea looks cold in it’s bleak beauty, and the air smells of salt and seaweed.

     “Yo,” a familiar voice drawls, and Beau appears next to him. “You okay?”

     “Of course,” Caleb says, a little too quickly, and really, Beauregard hasn’t witnessed his bullshit this long for nothing. She narrows her eyes.

     “You know that’s not gonna fly with me, right?” she gestures between them. “This ‘lying-to-my-face’ thing you’re doing?”

Caleb sighs, runs a hand on his face. “ _Ja,_ probably. Was worth a shot anyway,” he responds weakly.

     “Then fucking stop it,” Beau huffs and elbows him. “What’s the deal with you? You’re being all weird, what’s wrong?”

     “Many things, you know that.”

     “Okay, that right there, stop it, don’t pull that card with me, dude, I’m trying to help you. So spit it out.”

She’s always been all cut razor edges and hungry smirks, blunt and straight forward, and Caleb appreciates that about her. She’s good, so very good and kind in her own rough way.

He doesn’t know how to explain _this_ to her, however. It would mean picking sides. It would mean ‘checking’ in a way that would end in grief and devastation. And Caleb - Caleb wants none of those things to happen.

It’s not worth it _._ He wrings his hands anxiously. Beau’s close with Jester, and - and this whole thing is so utterly _stupid_ and unnecessary _,_ his feelings will fade away and it’ll be better for _everyone -_

_(there is no need for this, surely.)_

     “I, uh...” Caleb taps his fingers on the smooth wooden surface of the railing. He doesn’t know what to say. How to say it. “They do seem quite... lovely together, _ja?”_

Beau frowns and glances over her shoulder in their direction. “Kinda, guess so. I mean, if they are even there. I don’t even know. Labels, you know? What’s this about, Caleb?”

     “...nothing.”

A white seagull flies above them against dark storm clouds and screeches.

Caleb shifts awkwardly. “ _Oy,_ this is a bad idea,” he grunts. “Forget I said anything.” 

Before he can leave, Beau grabs him by the arm, and her eyes are very bright blue like the seashore by Nicodranas and seeing everything in him.

     “Wait - wait, are you jealous?”

Blood drains from Caleb’s face, drops to his stomach in a sickening rush. Hastily, he yanks his arm free and shrinks back into his coat.

     “ _Nein,_ that would imply that I would have a cause to be. And I don’t. I have no reason to be jealous, I have no _right_ to be jealous either, they are happy, and I am glad they settled their misunderstandings,” Caleb murmurs and forces a smile.

It breaks on his lips, fragile and _tired._

Beau stares at him, and he can pin-point the exact moment when the realization hits her.

She hisses a curse between clenched teeth, and to Caleb’s shock, she pulls him forward and hugs him. Caleb slumps in her arms and just accepts it. They are getting better at these, he thinks in a weirdly detached way. 

     “You fucking idiot,” Beau mutters, her voice muffled against his coat. “You frustrating _idiot_. How do you get yourself in these situations?”

He huffs a wet laugh. “I don’t know. Stupidity, I think. You don’t have to worry, Beauregard, I am not going to do anything. I care for them too much to ever interfere - “

She stiffens. “Wait, _what?”_

     “Fjord,” Caleb says, now tired. “And Jester. They are happy together, and there is no way I will ever be the reason to - I will _not_ destroy any chance of happiness they might find together. So...”

Beau’s grip on his forearms tighten. “Caleb,” she says very carefully, and her eyes move wildly on his features. “Caleb, back up. You think I’m thinking that? That you _would?_ ”

     “I - I would assume so?”

Beau’s mouth twists as if she’s in pain, and in that moment, in the sea’s gray light, she looks so much older.  

     “You fucking _idiot.”_

     “ _Ja,_ I know.”

     “No, you don’t, shut up. Gods, that must’ve sucked. All this time - fuck, man, that had to be, like... so painful _._ Why didn’t you say anything before?”  

Caleb sighs, his whole frame crumpling into himself like paper. The big question, isn’t it? He’s tired and hollowed out, and he doesn’t know how to explain it to her. So instead he just pats clumsily the top of her head.

     “It was not my place,” he murmurs. 

     “Seriously, fuck _-_ Caleb - “ Beau looks up, straightens and breathes deeply. “Listen, I’m gonna level with you. You - you’re sometimes a piece of shit. But so am I. So are most of us, okay? Like, no contest. We’re _all_ fucking awful in our own little ways, but that doesn’t mean you - yeah, _you,_ asshole - don’t deserve to be loved. Okay?”

     “That is not the - the point - I am _not_ going to - “ Caleb makes a restless, frustrated noise and waves his hand. “She, _Jester,_ is the best of us, all right? _That_ is what matters. She deserves everything good this world can offer her, and if she wants the only person that I - “

He shuts his mouth with a click, and hot red colour flushes on his cheeks. He looks away.

Beau’s hands fall from his coat, and her expression morphs into blank disbelief and horror.

     “Caleb - “

     “No, _nein,_ I - I do not want to talk about this anymore.” In a violent rush, everything he feels becomes raw and brittle, and he clenches his jaw. “I am happy they are happy. That he’s happy. And that he makes _her_ happy.”

Beau’s still staring at him, but her expression falters.

     “You self-sacrificing idiot,” she says, and her voice gets shakier around the vowels.

     “... _ja.”_

It’s an awful situation, but Caleb has a long list of awful situations he’s been in. So he will deal with this in silence, no matter how deeply the longing claws at him, no matter how much he yearns and falls even deeper in love, it does _not matter -_

     “There’s no use in forcin’ you to talk to them? To like, either of them?” Beau asks and reaches absentmindedly to scratch Frumpkin, who has appeared on Caleb’s shoulders.

     “No. They do not need me in the mix, to - to cause trouble and friction. It is not worth it, Beauregard.” He swallows hoarsely, and his throat burns. “It’s _not.”_

_I’m not._

Beau sucks in a sharp breath, shakes her head and pulls him back in a loose, clumsy embrace.

     “You really make things worse for yourself, buddy,” she murmurs and grips him in a way that’s meant to be a comfort. And it is.

He chokes a laugh. “ _Ja,_ I know. It is a bad habit.”

     “Don’t get too stuck in that head of yours, you hear me?” Beau says sternly, pulls back to glare at him, but her heart isn’t in it. “Hey. Talk to me, dude.”

     “I am. I will. But... I will be fine.” He smiles again, but he feels intimately well how thin and small it is. “I _will._ Don’t worry.”

She snorts. “Yeah, right. In a group like this, someone needs to worry about something. Might as well be me. Hey.” She raises her fist to him to bump. “We stick together, huh? The ones the Empire kinda fucked over?”

With a shaky laugh, Caleb humours her and bumps her fist with his own. “Sure, gods help us.”

     “Not to tell you what to do, but you really should talk to him,” Beau says finally, observing him. “Like, I’m not talking about confessing, okay, but... look, we all care about you. _He_ does. Jester totally does. No one would throw you out over shit like that. So... don’t suffer in silence, okay? You’ll go insane otherwise, Caleb.” 

 _I think I am already there,_ Caleb thinks, a hint of hysteria bleeding through. “I get it. Thank you, Beauregard.”

She squints at him again and tugs his beard a little roughly. “I can see through your bullshit, Widogast,” she scolds him, “but I’m letting it go this time. I’ll fucking kick your ass if you still wallow deeper. I mean that. We’re your _friends,_ get that in your skull.”

Caleb stares at her back, startled.

He isn’t sure how he feels; everything is an overwhelming turmoil, a painful mix of everything from fondness and fierce love to crippling inadequacy, worthlessness, grief and heartbreak - everything is so sharp and jagged in his mind, and his stupid brain won’t let it _go, because it just can’t._

_(you really thrive in tragedy, don’t you?)_

But under all that, warmth blossoms. He really is grateful for her. Bold, brave Beauregard, who still sticks by him, despite everything.

     “Okay,” he says, his smile softening.

Beau lifts a challenging eyebrow. “Yeah? Then good.” She bumps his shoulder with hers. “Love sucks, huh?”

     “That - that’s quite cynical of you.”

     “Hey, sue me, I’m trying to be supportive here.”

     “By saying that my feelings suck?”

     “Well, feeling shitty is still feeling shitty, right?”

Caleb has no response for that.

     “ _Ja,_ okay, I’ll give you that.”

     “Just... have a talk with him?”

     “That is not a problem.”

     “Maybe about your feelings?”

     “That...is _not_ going to happen.”

     “Man, you’re so fucking stubborn.”

     “You know it.”

Then, another voice - a deep baritone that they both know so well - says somewhere alarmingly near: “What’re you two doin’ over there?”

Caleb chokes on his tongue, and Beau whirls around so fast her bun nearly unravels.

     “Nothing!” they both say in unison, and Fjord’s face is remarkably unimpressed. He crosses his arms over his chest, giving them a _Look_.

     “Oh, yeah? Plannin’ on some mayhem, then?” he drawls, obviously playing along.

     “Psh, of course, you know us. Hey, good talk, Caleb, I’m gonna go and - “ Beau looks around the deck, in a way that doesn’t bode well for Caleb, “ - play poker with Nott! Yeah, that’s right. See ya!”

Caleb fights the urge to facepalm himself to the next week, and the crimson heat crawls into his neck. Of course. Sublety is often a foreign concept to the Mighty Nein - or more likely no one appears to give a shit about it.

Fjord stares after her.

     “Well, that was something. You okay?” he asks, and the worst thing is that Caleb knows Fjord means it. The half-orc leans against the railing next to him, and Caleb forces himself back into the situation.

     “Of course,” he replies, and this time his answer isn’t as fast or clunky.

Fjord’s eyebrow lifts a bit, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he reaches to rub the back of his neck. “Y’know, I - I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now,” he grunts, almost sheepishly.

Cold dread pools in Caleb’s veins. “I - all right?” he says, and his heart begins to pound louder. A thousand different scenarios flicker through his mind. “Is something wrong?”

     “No, no - nothing like that. I, uh - “ Fjord bites his lip, shifts awkwardly, and Caleb has no idea what is going on anymore. “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, that whole thing with Avantika was a mess on it’s own, but I’ve noticed you’ve been kinda down lately.”

Caleb closes his eyes. _Of course he’s noticed. Of course._ Because the universe just has to poke at Caleb’s bleeding wounds and pretend it’s mercy.

     “Ah, it’s nothing,” he says, and really, it’s not even a lie, not really. _(the words are not bleeding in his mouth, not tasting like something hot and sour)._ He even tries to smile. “Really, it is just... nightmares, things like that. Don’t worry.”

And because he absolutely can’t help himself, and maybe because he might harbour some masochistic streak to seek punishment, he finds himself asking: “And you? You and... our resident cleric seem to have gotten quite... quite close?” 

     “What? Yeah, I - I suppose so,” Fjord grunts. “To be honest, I don’t know how to handle anything like that. That kinda stuff has never been one of my strongest points, I guess.”

Caleb examines Fjord - he’s flustered, he realizes and doesn’t understand why. Doesn’t understand why this is even happening.

     “She is interested, though,” Caleb points out slowly. “Is it a surprise? She hasn’t exactly hidden it.”

Fjord snorts out a wry laugh, but the grimace pulls his mouth down into a tense line. “Yeah, nope. She definitely hasn’t.”

Caleb, whose head is swimming and who really doesn’t want to have this discussion _now,_ after that harrowing talk with Beau stripped him to bare bones, just shakes his head and interrupts: “ _Ja,_ and -... I am glad. About... about this.”

Fjord tilts his head with a frown. “Yeah? You are?” 

     “Of course. You are my friends. And happiness in our line of work is rare and should be treasured,” Caleb manages to say, and it’s not a lie.

His smile breaks and breaks and _breaks_ more than he’s thought would be possible, and he grinds his molars together in order to keep the smile desperately on. “Excuse me, I need to check something with Orly.”

That is definitely a lie, but Caleb walks off before he can be called out on it.

He’s a coward, after all.

+

He’s a dreadful coward, but he does want the best for his friends.

+

Caleb is far from the best for anyone.

+


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where people are sad and Caleb's past doesn't wait for him.

They somehow manage to get back to Nicodranas.

Somehow the Fate works in their favour for once - or perhaps Orly has the skill they needed not to crash into the docks and cause _another_ showdown with fights and yelling and inevitable Wanted- posters.

They’re all sore, tired, hungry and nervous about how they will be received, and they agree head through the Opal Archway toward the Lavish Chateu as carefully as they can.

Jester’s restless, she barely has time for subtlety as she races through the cobble-stoned streets, almost manic in her despair to get home, right at that moment.

No one blames her for it.

They left without warning, they were shot at, of course she’s desperate to get back to her mother.

_After the dragon, after the library and her appearing last on the deck -_

_\- she’s been very quiet._

Inside the inn, Marion’s perfectly polished mask cracks when she sees Jester, and with a choked sob, they embrace each other, clinging onto one another, and suddenly they are talking and crying.

The rest of the Nein decide to discreetly leave them alone and go down stairs to order a drink or a dozen.

They are exhausted, weary to the bone, worn by everything that has happened. It feels like a life time has passed since they were last there.

_Avantika, Uk’otoa, the ship graveyard, the blood pact, the dragon -_

Caleb’s heart wrenches and he quickly jumps ahead, desperately throwing his thought process forward _faster, faster -_

_\- twiggy, the library, fjord disappearing, he’s gone, gone, and the books, oh, so many books, but FJORD - the dragon -_

_\- the dead, flat glaze in jester’s eyes when she reappared last on the ship -_

_‘i’m a really good liar.’_

It’s all a mess. Beau has eyed them rather worriedly during these days - has been so worried for all of them these days, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when she decides to order a heavy drink.

Which she slams in front of him.

     “What is this?” Caleb asks.

     “It’s booze, drink up.”

     “You do know that the answer is not at the bottom of this, _ja?”_

     “Answer to what?” Beau asks, her expression strangely neutral as she grabs a handful of grapes from the bowl set on their table and shoves them in her mouth.

Caleb frowns. “To _anything.”_

     “Huh, yeah, sure, but it doesn’t hurt as much the closer you get.”

     “Or it hurts worse.”

Beau doesn’t take offense to his wry tone, just shrugs, and in the dim light, a strange, _old_ look flickers again on her features. Old and worn. 

     “Just drink the damn thing, Caleb,” she says quietly. “Okay? I’ll buy you every damn one, just - “ She chews her lower lip again. “I don’t want you looking like _that_ anymore.”

Caleb blinks, puzzled. “What do you mean, looking like what?”

The muscle in Beau’s throat tightens.

     “Haunted and...in agony,” she says finally, staring right into his eyes, and in a jolt, he realizes just how deeply she cares. How much she doesn’t give a shit that he knows that now.

_After Molly, things have changed quite a lot._

So Caleb thinks _What the hell,_ and takes a swig. It burns like fire through his chest, leaving him coughing and his eyes watering.

     “ _Danke,_ Beau,” he wheezes. 

     “Don’t mention it.”

+

Beau keeps her word. She buys him drinks, and Caleb drinks.

Fjord is following this with a furrowed brow, but doesn’t press on the issue.

Caleb’s mind gets oddly numb, oddly _silent_. There is no constant buzz, he almost doesn’t know what time is it anymore or where the north is, and -

\- and it holds such a strange feeling of freedom.  

Nott, on the other hand, squints at Beau. “Has he eaten anything?”

     “Well, peanuts, I guess, few grapes, but c’mon, Nott, let him have some fun. We’ve been fucked over keel and deck so many fucking times, we’ve earned some free-time, okay?” Caleb hears Beau answer, but not unkindly.  

Nott considers this a moment before she waves her flask. “... okay, if you’re sure. I still have this, though! If that’s undrinkable,” she wrinkles her nose at the tankard.  

     “Cool, awesome. Hey, Caleb, you alive?”

Caleb hums a reply, his vision swimming and blurrying around the edges. It’s almost quite pleasant, if it wasn’t for the coldness seeping through it - a bitter reminder of what has happened and what he’s done.

\- _flat eyes, fondness, the cloud of blood rising from their palms,_ a cut palm to cut palm, _we understand each other -_

Caleb grips the tankard, with a shallow exhale and quickly empties the drink.

     “Glad to see you all loosin’ up there, Caleb.”

_Fjord._

Beau’s slowed her own drinking, her tankard paused on her mouth, and slowly she turns her attention to Nott - but not without one last look directed at Caleb.

     “Now that we have a chance, yes,” Caleb replies as Fjord sits next to him, the chair creaking against the floor and considers Caleb carefully.

     “S’been hell of a journey, huh?”

Caleb thinks about it.

The wall of fire, Avantika hanging limp in the Plank King’s grip, the rolling sea, the sea hag, skeletal and snarling _\- blood in the water -_

     “... _ja,”_ he answers and turns the tankard in his hands. Turn, turn, turn. “It’s been... it’s been rough.”

The silence that hangs between them is awkward, and Caleb doesn’t know how to fix it. So he snaps his fingers, and Frumpkin appears on his lap as a warm, pumpkin coloured weight, yawning and burrowing closer.

     “Oh, there he is,” Fjord says, surprised, but then it melts into an amused grin. “No more octopus, huh?”

     “No, I - I like him as a cat. He’s the best cat.”

Fjord chuckles, and the deep baritone is comforting to hear. They haven’t had many reasons to laugh, recently.

     “That he is,” he replies rumbling, and his voice drops an octave deeper, his gaze changes into rich gold. The whiskey in Caleb’s tongue turns into water.

He suddenly isn’t very sure they are talking about Frumpkin, at all.

Well, at least the alcohol is working, he thinks dizzily.

His knuckles brush absently against the jagged scar on his palm.

Fjord’s gaze follows the movement, and his eyebrows knit together, creating a deep shadow in between. He opens his mouth to say something, but then, flushing, clicks his jaws together and turns his head away.

Caleb tries, but - 

It stings.

 _He’s regretting it,_ Caleb thinks, and a heavy feeling settles in his gut. _He’s regretting it and he’s seen how broken you are - he knows now - how filthy you are, how far you’re willing to go -_

_(filthy piece of shit - )_

     “You doin’ okay there?” Fjord asks, his voice now all low gravel around the drawled words. 

Caleb doesn’t know why he’s asking, _he doesn’t,_ so he just lifts his head up to see Fjord more clearly.

     “You know, you keep asking that quite often of me, Fjord,” he points out calmly, quietly - or as he can with his slightly slurred Zemnian accent.

     “I do? Huh. Well, guess so. I mean, think I’ve got a pretty solid reason to ask,” Fjord replies, his eyes lingering on the scar, and somehow it feels almost _intimate,_ to have him look at it knowing he has a matching one on his own palm.

Shivers that dance on Caleb’s spine have nothing to do with fear, _like back under all those black waves._

But...

     “ _Ja,_ I suppose you do,” Caleb says quietly and runs his fingers through Frumpkin’s fur to distract himself. His throat is suddenly very dry, his pulse thrumming in his ears. “Fjord, I - “

He trails off, uncertain. There are many things he could say, things he _wants_ to say.

_I am sorry._

_You are important to me._

_Your happiness is important to me._

_Please be happy, and take care of her, because I -_

_\- I don’t know how to do that to anyone._

_I am sorry._

Caleb doesn’t know what to say, how to explain it properly, in a way Fjord understands, but in the same time that Caleb doesn’t have to explain _everything -_

_\- like what he’s done years and years ago -_

Fjord’s eyes flash, and he instinctively leans forward. “What?” he asks, almost whispering, and Caleb stares back helplessly.

He can make out the almost greenish tint around Fjord’s irises, the white scars across his handsome face, the texture of his stubble, the tips of his tusks poking behind his lips, just barely noticeable.

Every detail burns into Caleb’s memory, causes his breathing almost to hitch in his throat, and  a violent, overwhelming flood of affection rushes through him.

     “Fjord, I - “

His voice hitches, breaks.

He wants to say: _I am sorry._

He wants to say: _I am so terribly fond of you._

Out loud he says: “I... would very much like to buy you a drink, Fjord.”

Fjord blinks, startled, and for a split second, he looks like he’s got trouble of breathing. Then it fades away, and he grins lop-sided and to Caleb’s horror, a little rueful.

     “Yeah? Would be kinda rude of me to refuse. Much obliged, Caleb.”

He buys Fjord a drink.

+

The nightfall comes, and the sky behind the coloured windows has turned pitch black. Most of the inn’s customers have wandered off either to upstairs or have left, and Beau drags Caleb upstairs to the rooms Marion has kindly given to them.

+

He doesn’t notice a cloaked figure entering the inn.

+

Caleb passes out.

The next time he wakes up it’s still dark - just past midnight, he estimates and fumbles up to get to the lavatory across the hall. He returns from the rather lavish privy to the corridor and absent mindedly notices a figure at the other end of the hallway, sitting on the window sill.

His heart skips a beat when he does recognize her.

_Jester._

She’s wrapped a an expensive looking quilt around herself, pulled her knees against her chest, her nose nearly touching the glass.

She’s watching the colourful lights under her, in the streets and alleyways, the blue of her eyes glowing nearly golden.

Caleb hesitates, his hand on the door knob.

Guilt burns through his guts like acid, and he - he’s done many things wrong, and the chances are he might fuck them up even further, but dammit, he can’t just walk away and leave her there. 

     “Can’t sleep?” he asks awkwardly, and her tail swishes, just a bit.

     “It is reeally pretty, isn’t it?” she asks, and her voice still bubbles, sweet and giddy - and Caleb’s heart drops, because he can see her reflection in the glass.

The dead, glazed gaze, the tired circles around her eyes, the trembling lips, badly hidden despair.

_‘i’m a really good liar’._

     “You know, I will not ask if you are okay...”

     “What, why? Why would you even ask that, that’s silly?” Jester asks with an incredulous giggle, but she’s still _not turning around,_ and Caleb feels like he’s spiralling. He doesn’t know how to fix this, he still doesn’t know how to comfort her -

So he just snaps his fingers, and Frumpkin appears, curling on her shoulders like a warm, orange coloured blanket. He nuzzles her jaw with a content purr. 

     “Oh! Aw, Caleb, you shouldn’t have... don’t you need him?”

     “Ah, you don’t have to worry about that. You can pet him, he’s really good for that.” Caleb shifts his weight on his other leg. “You know, you - you were very brave back there. It - it was hectic and - and confusing, and for a moment - “

He shuts up, suddenly ashamed. “ _Nein,_ I am sorry, this isn’t about - I just - I just want to say you do not have to be okay. No one can smile all the time, _ja?_ So - so you can be sad and it’s all right.”

Jester is quiet.

They can hear someone snoring in a nearby room. Then, Jester speaks up, so very quietly that Caleb has to strain to hear: “...but who then will be the happy one if I can’t smile?”

     “You do not have to make yourself smile for our sakes, Jester. Someone else will smile even when you are not.”  

     “Nott?” He can make out the corner of her mouth twitching. “She has a really pretty smile. Sharp, but very pretty.”

Caleb has no opinion on that, but nods. “Toothy, _ja.”_

     “...thanks, Caleb.” Jester turns her head, and now, there’s a shaky, wet smile, but... but a very real one.

Caleb is suddenly able to exhale properly. “I try.”

     “You do. It is very nice of you. What are you doing up, can you not sleep, either?”

     “No, no, I - I can. Bathroom break.”

Jester blinks. “Oh! You should go back to sleep, then! I’m waiting for Mama.”

Caleb isn’t sure whether or not that’s a good thing or not, but settles to nod. “Okay. Sleep tight, then.” He gestures at Frumpkin awkwardly. “You - um, you can keep Frumpkin for tonight, if - if you want.”

     “I can? Just for a little bit! Tiny bit, okay?”

     “... _ja,_ of course _.”_

He goes back to sleep.

+

He wakes up to a dry, woollen mouth an hour later and slightly disgruntled fetches some water, when he spots a figure lurking at the other end, near the stairs.  

It’s not Jester, that much Caleb sees.  

The figure has turned sideways, and hasn’t obviously noticed him yet, but when they shift, and the lantern light falls across their face, Caleb nearly drops the glass.  

Ice cold adrenaline rushes in his blood stream, and his whole body goes numb.

It’s a woman.

It’s a woman whom he recognizes, a woman he hasn’t forgotten, a woman he’s seen countless times haunting in his nightmares, it’s a woman whose pale, thin face he remembers reflecting the flames set in his home _, emotionless -_

_Oh, no, no, no -_

_They’ve found me. They’ve found me -_

Panic slams into Caleb’s rib cage like a hammer, he can’t breathe, _he can’t breathe, it’s over, it’s over, they’ve found me -_

Thoughts scatter and spread panic in his brain like in a hornet’s nest, and then he realizes in a sickening jolt: _is Eodwulf here, too? Ikithon? Are they all here?_

_(he can’t breathe, he can’t, this can’t be happening - )_

Then a thought crystallises in his cluttering head.

_I have to leave. Before she sees me._

He has to lead her away from the others, they cannot be mixed into this, they don’t know what Eodwulf and Astrid are able to do without flinching, they wouldn’t even blink _,_ if -

\- if they are still brainwashed, if if if _if -_

_Nein._

He has to go, he can’t let this happen, not when everyone is still recovering from the whole ordeal, when they are still healing _,_ Caleb can’t let this happen, not _now._

It was inevitable. He should have known.

_Everything is unraveling, and gods, Caleb should’ve done more._

But he can do this.

So he quickly sneaks back to the room that he shares with Nott, fetches his coat and hesitates by the bed. Nott has curled into the soft blankets, snoring loudly, her mouth wide open and full of mangled teeth.

_Very toothy._

She’s adorable, his little friend whom he owes so much. Whom he loves so fiercely.

He leans down to press his lips lightly on her hair.

_Be well, my friend._

At the door, he takes a careful peek outside, at the stairs and the figure is gone. _Good._ Caleb sneaks back to the corridor, closes the door behind him and -

     “ _Ouch - fuck!”_

Collides with Fjord.

Caleb stares at him in horror. _No. He - he can’t - he cannot be this unlucky -_

With a hiss, Fjord rubs his sternum where Caleb bumped to - his hair is messy around the temple where the pillow has pressed against it. He blinks sleepily down at Caleb. His scarred lips twitch into a tired little grin like he can’t quite help himself.

     “Hey, fancy meeting you here,” he grunts, his voice deliciously rough and gravelly from sleep. Caleb is frozen. Fjord blinks again at him and instantly tenses; Caleb is really bad at controlling his growing turmoil, and Fjord doesn’t need any light to see his panic. “Hey, what’s wrong? You’re spooked, what’s the matter?”  

 _Oh, my friend,_ Caleb thinks and hates how reassuring and comforting Fjord’s deep baritone is, even in this awful moment.

He forces himself to answer as casually as he can:

     “Fine, fine, _ja,_ I am completely fine. Ah, it is still dark outside, you - you should go back to bed, Fjord - “

But Fjord doesn’t move. “Caleb. You look like you saw a ghost. Wanna tell me what’s going on?” But Caleb doesn’t have to answer. Fjord notices his coat, and Caleb’s insides turn to ice. “Wait. Are you _leaving?”_

Fjord’s voice takes an incredulous, hurt edge _,_ and Caleb wants to scream ‘ _it’s not like that!’_ until his lungs collapse.

_But there is no time -_

Only thing coming out of his mouth is a broken: “ _Ja.”_

     “What does that mean? Why?” Fjord sounds alarmed. “Why now _,_ after everything - _?”_

_She might be close, she might find them and see Fjord - !_

And Caleb breaks.

     “I am compromised,” he breathes out, “they found me, my former - former mentor, my old _teammates,_ they have found me and they can’t, they can’t find you _,_ I have to lead them away from the group - “

     “ _What?_ Slow down, Caleb, your teammates - ?”

     “Ikithon,” Caleb gasps, his nerves now completely torn to shreds, his paranoia clawing out of him. “Trent Ikithon, back at Zadash, he’s found me, and he cannot _-_ I must leave, right now before they hurt any of you - “

     “Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy, Caleb - hey - think we can take them on? We’ve faced a lot worse - “

Caleb’s heart nearly stops half way a beat. “ _No!_ You do not understand, they will not hesitate to kill everyone, to torture you, I will not _-_ that is a risk I _cannot_ take, Fjord - “

Words are pouring out, he’s horrifyingly aware how quickly the time is running out, he’s ready to wrench himself open with pure frantic nerves, _he has to leave, right now before she comes back - !_

He stares desperately Fjord in the eyes. “Let me leave,” he whispers. “They will never let you go if they find out. So please - “

_Please._

Fjord watches him, his gaze searing through Caleb like he’s nothing more than paper, his warmth seeping through all the layers of cloth into Caleb’s skin, and he wants, _oh, how badly he wants,_ wants nothing more than to sink into this safe, comforting presence and forget everything else -

\- _but you can’t._

_There always comes the price in the end, and you have ran long enough._

Fjord steps closer, and his shadow towers over Caleb, but Caleb counters him, just angling his head to meet his eyes. The air crackles between them, raw and so terribly bare.

     “Don’t go,” Fjord whispers hoarsely, his voice cracking at the end. “We’ve got your back, Caleb, we can handle this, we faced a fuckin’ dragon - “

_Dragons don’t torture you from the inside out, Fjord._

     “No _.”_

     “Then I’m comin’ with you.”

Stunned, Caleb’s heart skips a painful beat. “What? No, you are _not - “_

For one, treacherous moment, Caleb’s mind betrays him. For that one glorious moment, his mind slips and imagines that branching path, the future. Fjord, with him, easing that painful loneliness, Fjord there, being a support, a friend -

\- but then, it fades. Fjord _can’t_ know. Fjord cannot be there to witness the ugly side of Caleb’s past, the filth, the horror, the despicable things he’s done.

And they - Ikithon, the others, can’t know who the Mighty Nein are and what they mean.

So with that, Caleb makes a decision.

Awful decisions are after all his repertoire, aren’t they?

His heart breaking in his chest, Caleb raises his hand and brushes his fingertips against Fjord’s forehead. Fjord stills, a little startled.

Caleb whispers: “ _Sleep.”_

A violent tremor goes through Fjord’s body when he realizes what’s going on. He struggles viciously against the spell; he clenches his teeth together, his jawline tightening under the strain.

     “C - Caleb _\- no! -_ don’t do this _-_ please - “

Caleb’s eyes cloud over, but he desperately keeps the mask on, he has to, he has to do this -

     “I am sorry,” he manages to say, and he’s foolishly grateful that isn’t a lie. That the last thing he tells Fjord is not a lie. “I am so, so sorry. I - I will come back, if - if I am allowed...in the end.”

     “ _C-_ Ca - Caleb - “

Fjord grunts, consonants clogging his throat, breaking apart -

\- and his eyes roll blindly to his skull, and he slumps on the ground, asleep.

Heaving shallow, dry breaths that are burning his lungs, Caleb blinks back the wetness in his eyes, straightens his posture, and it has never been more difficult than at this moment.

His hands are shaking.

After sending Frumpkin ahead to make sure the backdoor is free, he leaves.

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo, boy, that took a turn. I didn't exactly expect it to go that way, but too late now :D 
> 
> My updates are probably gonna go a bit slow now, I'm starting an internship at a local health center (i'm pretty terrified, holy shit) so I don't have much time, but I'll try my best! Stress could make me want to write more, we'll see which way it goes!  
> Thank you very much for reading and taking the time to comment and give kudos and bookmarks, you people are so amazing!! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions happen.

It’s eerie how easy it is to slip back into being ‘himself’. ‘Just Caleb’. 

He remembers how that was at first. He was alone, startled, a nervous wreck, glancing over his shoulder, half out of his mind with paranoia and fear and _my fault-my fault-my fault_.

It’s been very long since he’s been by himself, and it’s still terrifying, like a wound that’s barely scabbed over, but now... _now_ there’s something else than just ‘ _himself’._

He flees the Opal Archway, hot blood rushing in his temples, his mind whirling in full speed forward as he tries to understand how this has happened.

Has the necklace stop working? Was it an accident? A coincidence?

Caleb doesn’t believe in coincidences, especially when Ikithon and _others_ are concerned. If Eodwulf and Astrid are still in his service, their network and resources go beyond than what Caleb can ever hope to evade.  

A part of him wants nothing more than for it to be a coincidence. An accident.

But every other part that is Caleb Widogast, Trent Ikithon’s pride and greatest masterpiece, has no illusions about it.  

The bleak, broken part of him is infuriatingly perceptive, isn’t it?

His memory slips and falters, diving into the more recent memories - the Mighty Nein, Beau’s rough, blunt displays of friendship, Nott’s adamant loyalty, Jester’s bubbly joy, Mr Clay’s serene wisdom, his _caring -_ it goes on and on and on, and now he’s _left them._

It hurts, cutting viscerally into his gut like an actual wound. He has to stop, lean against a wall to wheeze, his trembling fingers digging into his forearms.

_‘don’t do this - ‘_

Caleb shudders. _Focus. You have to focus._

He disguises himself as a half elven man and continues.

He has no idea where he’s going, ‘away’ seemed like a reasonable concept at first, but now, where is he supposed to go? Zadash? It’s easier to disappear into a colourful crowd, that is true, but that is too close to Ikithon, if he has even stayed there, or maybe he’s returned to Rexxentrum, but then again the countryside -

 _No, no, no._  

As he considers his options, the brutal reality of the situation hits him across the face. Being by himself, not being a part of a _group._ The realization makes him pause, his eyes wide.

Once he would have been glad about this.

But now -

\- _now it feels like a limb being torn off._

He can sense their presence again, ghosts hovering around him, _jester’s giggles, fjord’s steady, deep voice, beau’s fierce, sarcastic energy and clumsy hugs, yasha, caduceus, nott - nott nott nott -_

_(go back, go back, they want to help you - )_

_(why would they, they KNOW, you are disgusting piece of filth - )_

It all fades in his mind, leaving behind icy, clammy chill on his skin.

_Alone._

_Isn’t this what you wanted?_

_YES_

_(nonono)_

Caleb hisses a breath inside, suddenly angry with himself. Stop it. _Stop it._ He’s made his bed, now he has to lie in it.

He can do this. He can do this, he’s been alone before, he can do this again.

First, leave Nicodranas.

He exhales. Yes. Good. That sounds like a reasonable plan. Clean, simple, logical. He can do that. He can leave and not look back and not feel like his heart is -

Caleb grits the back of his teeth together. _Focus._

Inhale. Exhale. _Breathe, dammit._

_(don’t - don’t think about it)_

He does. He does, he can’t help it, his mind conjures every precious, sweet memory, warm and full of the sense of belonging, of being a part of a _group, laughter and jokes and stupidity, and_ now he’s fucked things up so dreadfully.

 _Well,_ he thinks viciously, digging his fingers into his scalp as if he could control his thoughts with sheer pressure alone, _at least they were not seen. That **they** did not see the others. _

With a shaky breath, he steadies himself and continues his journey through Nicodranas’s streets.

That works for two minutes.

Because he hears a soft, politely accented voice that makes his blood freeze solid in his veins.

     “ _Hallo,_ Caleb.”  

+

Caleb’s paralyzed. Not by any magic, but his own body reeling from shock, shaking him by the very roots.  

He can’t breathe, he can’t move, his brain has grown absolutely still with utter silence _._

It’s her. _Gods above, it’s her._

Astrid.

It’s been so long, he’s seen her so many times in his nightmares since the night he murdered his parents, _burned his home down -_

And now she stands there, in front of him.

Real, breathing, alive, there in front of him in the waking world.

She’s older, he realizes dumbly. It is such a stupid notion to make, but he can’t help it. The years have left fine lines in the corners of her eyes, making her look tired and _thin,_ somehow. Yet her eyes are still poison green, sharp and razor-like.

_Missing nothing, seeing everything, digging into every secret like teeth into a carcass._

He hasn’t forgotten how efficient those eyes were back at Ikithon’s service, yet it still stuns him to see them now.

     “Think you’ve got a wrong man, ma’am,” Caleb forces himself to respond and inwardly grimaces how much he sounds like Fjord. Well, one of Fjord’s accents, anyway.

Astrid snorts, and a wan, incredulous smile makes it’s way on her chapped lips.

     “Really?” she says, her voice a little rough, and Caleb can’t quite tell if she’s unimpressed or bewildered. “You are telling me this? Caleb, I am not stupid, and I’m frankly a little insulted you think I am - that I - Are you somehow imagining that I don’t recognize _your_ magic?”

     “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Caleb lies through gritted teeth.

     “ _Caleb._ Don’t do that. Please. It’s _me.”_

She switches into Zemnian, and he nearly has a heart attack. The vowels, the consonants flow and sting him with familiarity, the language he hasn’t heard in so, so long, not like this, not _from them,_ and he can’t breathe.

No, no, no, he - he’s not -

_It’s me._

She steps closer, and nearby lantern paints her features, and for that painful moment, she hasn’t changed. Gangly, defiantly jutted chin, summer’s freckles on her angular face. _He remembers._

_Gods -_

_We really were just children, weren’t we?_

He stares at her desperately, horrifying ache filling his chest, carving into his ribs, into the very pit of his stomach.

     “Caleb,” she breathes, and he can almost smell the mulled wine in their home village, the scent of gingerbread like during Yule times - _no, no -_

He’s falling, his lungs are screaming, and she hasn’t even done anything.

     “Caleb.” Astrid looks suddenly uncertain. “I want to see your face. Please.”

_Bitte._

The disguise falls before Caleb’s mind can catch up, and then, it’s just him. Caleb Widogast, to his bare bones, in his travel worn jacket and scarf, and so, so horribly numb.

Astrid stares at him, her eyes widening a fraction as she takes him in, observes, just _looks._

     “Oh, Caleb,” she whispers and her arm twitches between them like she wants to touch him. “You look awful.”

He huffs a laugh, and he has a feeling it might sound hysterical. “Yes, I - I imagine that I do.”

She drinks him in, and he shifts, uncomfortable and flustered. It’s such a heavy gaze, heavy and hungry in a way Caleb isn’t sure he understands.

     “You have grown a beard,” she murmurs and reaches to brush his cheek. Her fingertips are ink-stained and dry, and Caleb jolts as if struck by a thunderbolt. Astrid pauses. Her expression smooths over.

Caleb’s mind is crowded, too much. Too much happening.

_This is too much._

Over a decade of being away, being afraid and being tortured by what happened, Caleb is staggering under the crushing weight of all the memories and horror and _fire on his home,_ he’s suddenly clumsy and jittery in his too tight skin.

So, he manages to ask: “How did you find me? Or was it an accident?”

The green of her eyes flash for a second, then it’s gone. Maybe it’s pity. Maybe it’s disgust. Maybe it’s remnant of the past, Caleb has no idea.

     “You were in the Asylum, Caleb,” she says instead, and he notices that isn’t an answer. “You were - “ Frowning, she pauses as if unsure what word to use. Then, she doesn’t. “You should not be out, you weren’t well.”

Caleb’s heart gives a sickening lurch. The smell of the ward, clean and medicinal, something clinging in his tongue, the gray haze in his mind - _no._ Stop it.

     “Does he know?”

They stare at each other. Caleb’s pulse pounds just under his skin. He feels paper thin.

She sucks her top lip against her teeth. There’s still a slight gap between them. Caleb barely has time to control his shudder. _Stop._

     “He knows,” she says. “Of course he does. He investigated the murder. You were not subtle.”

A choked noise escapes Caleb’s throat, and he makes a weak effort to mask it as a cough. “Did he send you?”

Astrid sighs, shakes her head. “Oh, Caleb. Not everything is about you,” she says, and now she sounds weary. “I do not know if you have noticed, but the war is happening, we have more pressing issues happening than to look for you. But...” She trails off, her eyes returning to his face like she can’t quite help herself, “I was curious.”

_Curious._

Caleb wants to bark out a dark laugh. Of course she was. They all were, once, before Soltryce.

     “You tried very hard,” she continues softly. “You were so good.”

_Were._

Caleb remembers his parents. They thought he was so good, too.

Smiling, evenings by the fireplace, comforting hugs, warm and welcoming, flowers braided into his mother’s long red hair, his father’s dimples, his work-worn hand ruffling Caleb’s hair, and both of them were so proud of him when he got accepted into the Academy.

\- _all of it going in flames, screams of agony and fear and horror and you did that, you did that, the frantic banging on locked front door, nails clawing at the wood, and -_

stop stop stop - _STOP IT -_

Caleb sucks in a sharp inhale, his fingers clenching into a fist. He can still feel the heat burning his skin, singeing the hair on his arms.

     “Oh, Caleb.”

She touches his cheek again. It’s gentle. Gentle, but he knows what those hands have done. Remembers her parents gurgling blood by the dinner table, their bulging, panicked eyes, _wet breathing as they died slowly and painfully, with the realization that their daughter wasn’t going to help them -_

     “We did the right thing. They were traitors.”

She sounds so sure about that. Something in Caleb breaks, because he remembers that, too. “They were not,” he chokes.

Astrid shakes her head again. “Of course they were - “

     “They were not. Ikithon lied to us. Implanted fake memories in our heads to test our loyalty. Our parents were _innocent,_ and we killed them.”

Astrid stiffens. Her jaw strains, her eyes grow hard. “What is this?” she demands and pulls her hand back.

     “There was a woman, in the Asylum - she saw it, she - she removed the fake memories from my head. They were not traitors, Astrid, it was a lie - “

She stares at him. She’s not smiling anymore, there’s no softness, no hint of nostalgia beneath that dark, unblinking gaze.

     “Caleb.” She pronounces his name very carefully, like she’s holding glass shards on her tongue. “You failed the task he gave you. You could not handle it, and you broke.”

     “I know I did. I know what I did. I was sure he was right - but then he _wasn’t.”_

She shakes her head. “You were in the Asylum, you got the best treatment he could get you, and you still cling onto these - these delusions? You are in denial.” Astrid’s lips curl, in a mix of disgust and pity.

Caleb doesn’t answer.

     “Have you even tried?” Astrid asks, and her tone changes into something smoother. “You were so good, incredibly skilled - you were efficient, _deadly,_ Caleb - it would be terrible waste to let go of your talents like that. You did so well.”

Chills dig into Caleb’s bones. A weapon of the Empire, that’s what they were. Once a weapon, always a weapon, for the propaganda and warfare, is that not how it goes, still after all this time?

     “Are you certain what he told us was the truth?”

     “Why would he lie?” Astrid shoots back without hesitation.

     “I remember the beatings. I remember the punishments.”

Astrid freezes. “It was for our own good,” she says, her voice clipped. “So we could learn and be better than the trash where we came from.”

Caleb hears Ikithon in her voice. _‘Trash’, ‘useless’, ‘you should be grateful’ ‘you were nothing until i saved you’ ‘look now what you made me do, you useless little bastard’ -_

     “Why would he order us to kill our parents?” he asks, his throat clogging. He’s too scrubbed raw for this. He could barely handle telling all of this to Beau and Nott, and now, he’s talking about it with Astrid of all possible people, and it’s too much.

_She saw all of it, too._

And she didn’t even _flinch_ as her parents died, watching her emotionless face.

     “The Empire could have handled it. It did not have to be _us,_ even if - even if they were guilty. It was cruel and merciless.”

     “ _Merciless?”_ Astrid laughs, and it’s a shrill, hollow sound. “We weren’t his apprentices because of _mercy!_ He did not choose us to teach us mercy! How many traitors did we execute even before that, Caleb? We knew what it was and we were _good_ at it. What difference did our parents make?”

Caleb’s throat burns.

He stares at her. He doesn’t feel anything. He can’t comprehend it. He can’t wrap his head around it. All of this information tries to sink in his skull, but it’s too much, and he’s reeling with the brute strength of it.

 She - she really does believe that. She really believes, still, after all these years.

     “They were our parents,” he whispers, ragged. “Does that not mean anything to you?”

Astrid stares back, and then, she sighs, her fury settling into pity. “Caleb. They were traitors of the Empire. They were a part of an underground rebellion. They were dangerous.”

Like it’s that simple.

Nice and neatly categorized.

Suddenly Caleb feels ancient. He’s old and exhausted. _Nothing_ is simple and nothing is neatly categorized. It’s a tragic mess of mistakes and guilt and lies and clawing himself back from the pit that he deserves.

     “You really believe that,” Astrid whispers, stunned. She’s staring at him like he’s a stranger. “You were the best of us, and you believe that.”

Caleb has no answer to that.

He believed like her, too.

_For a moment, he -_

_\- he really did._

Silence rolls in. He can hear the waves crashing into the docks, somewhere far away.

     “You really have fallen from grace,” Astrid whispers and then lifts her chin up. “Nevertheless, he wants to meet you.”

     “Ah, of course he does,” Caleb sighs and rubs the pressure point between his eyes. He wants to fall asleep, he just wants this to be over.

Astrid doesn’t smile.

Her face is completely blank, carefully neutral, but her eyes... flat, dead, dark. No sparks, no humour, no joy, everything vital and real and vibrant has gone out.

_like -_

_\- you were always the better dancer -_

His thoughts snap. She shifts her posture under her expensive robes, and he still knows that shift quite well.

She’s readying herself.

     “Well, I cannot say the same,” Caleb murmurs. He wonders idly if he could take her in a fight. Most likely not.

     “I know,” Astrid replies simply, and for that moment, she sounds just as tired as he feels. “But you owe it to him, never mind your delusions. He provided eleven years of care for you in that Asylum.”

     “Yes, do not be ungrateful now, Caleb,” a new, deep voice says with amusement, and Caleb’s stomach drops and his knees turn to jelly.  

_This cannot get any worse._

But it does.

A large, broad shouldered figure steps out of the shadows that the lovely archway casts on the street.

It’s not Ikithon, but it is Eodwulf.

He’s older and rugged, new scars twisting his mouth into a wide grin, his mouth full of teeth and gums.

He says calmly: “You have interesting news to tell Master Ikithon, after all... about the group you travel with. About the woman from Xhorhas.”

And Caleb thinks: _I am not getting out of this alive._

_+_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no Mighty Nein or Widofjord this chapter D:  
> Astrid is probably nothing like this, but their dynamic was fun to imagine :D (also the chapter count will go up again, maybe)  
> Thanks for reading and hope you've had a fun new year! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another reunion and memories and some new discoveries.

Everything is muted and faded. Colours, sounds, _everything._

Caleb can’t feel a thing. He’s strangely detached from the shapes of things, everything in his vision is fuzzy, and none of it barely sinks into his skull. His ears are filled with faint buzzing sound.

This is really happening, he thinks quite stupidly. It’s happening, right now, and there’s nothing he can -

He’s just able to stare at this scene, unfolding in front of him like a forgotten nightmare, but this time...

... _this time it’s real._

_He can’t wake up from this._

For a heartbeat, for one terrifying heartbeat, he’s back at Soltryce.

( _jokes, laughter, flutter of playful magic - gingerbread and hard caramel candies cracking in their teeth - )_

When they were young and more whole than now, young and stupid and so foolishly eager to learn, even though it came later with a heavy price.

And now...they’re here _._ All of three them _._ All of Trent Ikithon’s students.

_Oh, you two,_ Caleb thinks, raw grief lancing through his chest. _We really had no idea back then, did we?_

Eodwulf steps into the light, eyeing Caleb with open amusement. Or, it would seem that way, but Caleb can make out a hint of something sharp, something _hungry_ in there.

     “Well now, Caleb, you certainly got the short end of the stick, didn’t you?” he asks, and Caleb shudders; there’s a strange, gritty quality to Eodwulf’s voice now - more coarse as if his vocal chords have been damaged.  

     “I don’t know, it has not been so bad,” Caleb forces himself to say, and a small, senseless part of him desperately wishes for Frumpkin to be here, right now.

     “No?” Eodwulf asks, and there’s a ghost of sweetness in his tone. He’s still smiling, thin and amused. “And why is that? You made quite a mess back at the Asylum.”

Caleb doesn’t deny it. He’s trapped, it’s no use, _he doesn’t know what to do -_  

     “Murdered a guard to get out,” Eodwulf continues and moves to circle Caleb, his movements deliberate and practised. Like a well-oiled machine. Click-click-click. “Stabbed him between the ribs. Very vicious. Much like a cornered little rat, weren’t you?”

     “Yes, well, it’s nice to see you, too,” Caleb responds, his mouth is dry. 

_Think think think -_

His brain is moving, _moving,_ crowded, too many thoughts, plans, possibilities churning and wheeling, quicker, quicker, _quicker -_

_what to do, what can I do, think, think, a Fireball, no, I am barely rested, a Wall of Fire -_

His thoughts still.

It’s worked once. _Once._

_(he was not alone, then.)_

Caleb’s heart races, clammy sweat drips down from his hairline. _Oy, this is bad,_ he thinks, anxiety and fear clutching at his throat. _I need to do something. **Anything.**_

_I -_

He freezes.

Eodwulf is right in front of him and leans in, leaving just few inches of space between them. Caleb’s stomach is suddenly hollow. He can smell the leather, sweat, something from Soltryce, something that reminds of their chambers - a hint of lavender that was used in the clean linen - _yes, that’s it -_

     “We are not here to discuss the Asylum, no matter how disgraceful you were,” Eodwulf says, his voice dropped low, harsh, and Caleb’s memories snap crystal clear again. _Focus._

     “No? What are you doing here, then?” he asks, expressionless.  

     “Ah, you would like to know, wouldn’t you?”

     “Except you did tell me.”

Eodwulf pauses, the pin pricks of his eyes narrowing. Then, he relaxes. “Ah, the clever little fox,” he chuckles. “Suppose I did then. Well, since you are so keen on discussing it, why not. So. You’ve gathered quite a crew around yourself, haven’t you?”

Caleb stares back.

     “Hardly a crew,” he allows through clenched teeth. _Lie. Just lie. You are not above such things, so lie._

     “Oh? ‘The Mighty Nein’,” Eodwulf declares and takes a mocking bow. Caleb tenses, his hackles rising up. “Funny. It’s a fun little pun. Other Zemnians in your group, to come up with a name like that?” Caleb doesn’t answer, but Eodwulf smiles like he’s gotten one, anyway. “You have been busy.”

     “...well, it is not like I had anything better to do.”  

     “Cheeky,” Eodwulf says and looks charmed. A hot, sick weight rolls in Caleb’s stomach. No. He’s not ready for this, he hasn’t been ready for this for over a decade, but the Fate has never listened to wishes of any mortal, so he needs to kick himself into gear and _fucking do something._

**_Anything._ **

     “The war is coming, you have no doubt heard,” Eodwulf continues. “And we received a word of a barbarian woman from Xhorhas, travelling in a group that calls itself ‘the Mighty Nein’. Subtlety hasn’t been working for you, has it? The Victory Pit...not your kind of place, was it?”

_He knows._

_He knows I was there?_

     “That was a mistake on our part, not noticing you. But the woman...” Eodwulf’s smile widens, becomes hungry, so sickly gleeful that Caleb can’t tear his eyes off of it. “Now, what kind of a network would just let a clue like that slip by when it so kindly wanders to our vicinity?”

Caleb’s lungs are burning. He’s two seconds away from hyperventilating. This is bad. This is _so bad._ He has a vague idea how Ikithon would view someone like Yasha, and the thought makes him sick.

     “She is not with us,” he says, as clipped as he manages. “She has left the group.”

Astrid says somewhere behind Caleb: “Locals seem to support his claim.” Her distaste leaves an oily feeling on Caleb’s skin. “No one has seen anyone her description in the Opal district or the docks.”

Eodwulf steps into Caleb’s space. He’s always been taller than Caleb, more broad, more _solid_ than him, but now... now being in his shadow fills Caleb with cold dread.

     “You realize where this is going, don’t you, Caleb?”

Caleb does realize, and he hates that he does. Much has changed, but not enough.

     “Are you going to be difficult?”

For a split second Caleb considers the possibility. He _could._ He could be damn difficult.

He could try to throw a Wall of Fire now, burn everything in his way and run, but... _but._ They know Yasha, they know the others. He could divert their attention elsewhere. Caleb bites the inside of his cheek anxiously.

This isn’t good.

_So lie,_ the old voice whispers in his head. _Lie and twist and manipulate, you do that so well, don’t you?_

So, Caleb shakes his head.

     “Good. Follow us.”

+

They don’t use ‘Thunderstep’ like Fjord does; a flash of teleportation magic tears them out of the street, and in another, they appear in a small, modest room. Two beds, a little stove, table, chairs and a bathroom. 

Sweat beads under Caleb’s collar, and he’s immediately uneasy. _Fuck._ Where is _this?_

An inn? They can’t be outside Nicodranas, surely - the magic still holds certain rules, no matter how advanced you get. It can’t be too far out, then. It’s not a comfort, exactly, but Caleb will take what he can.

Before he can move, Astrid  grips his wrists and he can feel it burning against his skin - the ice cold touch of magic suppressing shackles. Instantly a violent surge of nausea rolls in his stomach, hot bile fills his mouth, and he feels dizzy.

Ah, not a sensation he’s missed.

They descend on him, and then it’s just hands.

_Hands._

Hands all over his body, hungry and systematic, patting his sides, to his stomach, his back - he _hates_ it - too much - _stop it, stop touching me -_

     “ - his spellbooks - “

     “ - materials, too, take them, I saw a pouch inside his breast pocket - “

He’s stripped of all his books, notes and scrolls, and he feels bare, so utterly naked without them, cracked open and _humiliated._ He distantly wonders how in heaven’s name he still has energy for something like that _._

Eodwulf steps in. Says nothing.

Silences are not strange things to Caleb, but with Eodwulf, it feels like something bitter bleeding between them.

He just looks, let’s his eyes slide across Caleb’s face, and Caleb knows he notes every single crack in his core, every flaw, every painful memory. He sees everything real and rotting and _awful_ in Caleb. 

     “Back at the Academy, seeing you like this would have - “ Eodwulf pauses, but Caleb doesn’t think it’s hesitation. “It would have been the most unbelievable thing I could have imagined,” he says finally, barely moving his lips. “Master Ikithon’s priced student... mind breaking so badly he needed the Asylum. _You.”_

Caleb stares back. Tremors go through his arms, to his legs. He can’t move, and it’s a testament how weak he is, when it is not even because of magic. It’s just him and his world crumbling.

     “How? Fire or screams were not a new thing to you, Caleb.”

Eodwulf whispers it, so very soft, almost kind, and the rest of the all air punches out of Caleb’s lungs.

_How did we get here...?_

Eodwulf, who slit his parents’s throats until his hands were slick with red.   

Astrid, who poisoned her parents until they choked on their own blood.

And he, Caleb, who burned his parents to ash listening to their terrified screams and _broke._

     “You really want me to explain how?” Caleb asks wearily. “What happened back there, what we did?”

Eodwulf’s top lip tightens against his teeth. “We did our duty for the Empire.”

_It’s the same damn thing, over and over again. Same explanation, same excuse, same mantra to tell and to repeat to shield ourselves from insanity._

_(you used to spit that, too, don’t lie now)_

There is no escaping it, the Empire, Soltryce. Not in a way that it matters, and here’s the proof what could have happened and what _has_ happened.

An ugly, tangled mess.  

Caleb searches Eodwulf’s gaze. Gets stuck in it, like in a dark maelstrom. It’s thick and suffocating and too much to get a grasp on. Eodwulf’s eyes have always been strange - Caleb remembers how they looked almost poison green in hot light, turning into sick yellowish tint during summer days.

When things were much, _much_ simpler.

     “That we did,” Caleb whispers, haggard, tired. “We killed our parents. We did not even hesitate. We listened what _he_ told us, _we_ believed him blindly, we did that and we killed them, what does that tell you about us?”

Eodwulf’s still. Frighteningly so. “If you have to ask that, if you don’t know what sacrifices mean for the greater good, then you have fallen even further than anyone’s thought possible,” he murmurs, and Caleb flinches, because he can make out hurt in his voice.

_Hurt._ Senseless, bleeding, _stupid_ hurt that neither one can understand.

     “ _Ach,_ well, I’d rather take that than be on their leash,” Caleb says quietly. “I am sorry.”

Eodwulf stares at him. His chin twitches.  

_\- thump thump thump,_ Caleb’s heart rate spikes, then starts pounding even more violently against his ribs _-_

The tension snaps when Astrid suddenly gasps: “He’s got still something on him!”

Caleb doesn’t see Eodwulf moving, but jolts when Eodwulf grabs his wrist and pulls him closer, and suddenly white-hot flame burns through Caleb’s palm, surging to his very jaw bone.  

Several things happen.

Startled, Eodwulf lets go. Astrid’s face pales, and a deathly still silence falls into the room. For the first time since this reunion has happened, they’re caught off guard.

     “A blood pact,” Astrid manages to say and sounds strangled. “You’ve made a _blood pact.”_

Instinctively Caleb’s fingers curl into a fist and twitch away from sight.

Both of them stare at it.

     “Astrid?” Eodwulf asks, like it’s wrenched from his throat.

Astrid frowns, and it looks odd on her features. “It’s strange - “ she wrinkles her nose in concentration, “ - wild kind of magic.”

Eodwulf barks out a harsh laugh.

     “What kind of a desperate soul have you tied to yourself, Caleb? A blood pact, really. And you talk about _leashes,”_ he sneers, the hurt hardening into disgust, dripping from his mouth.

     “No, it was _not_ like that - “

     “No?” Eodwulf’s mask returns, that sickly sweet smile. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? Two souls consenting with blood and promise, and you think it bears no mark or weight? Really? Obtuseness is not a good look for you, Caleb.”

Thinking of it hurts. Caleb’s whole chest aches to the very depths of his being. The scar hasn’t healed well; it’s ugly and jagged around the edges, and yet sometimes, _sometimes,_ Caleb catches himself wondering about it, the hot pulsing that sometimes appears under his skin that has nothing to do with fear or regret.  

_\- always,_ Fjord said, not even hesitating, he offered his services to Caleb as if he were his patron, and no, that’s the worst, he _can’t,_ he told him - he needs help and yet he’s secured that by manipulating and lying and -

\- _gods, he really should regret it..._

_Jester would never have done this to Fjord._

Then Astrid’s arms fall on her sides, and with a nauseating shudder, Caleb realizes that she knows.

     “An orc. Part of the magic is from an orc-blooded person,” she says, blinking slowly, and Caleb thinks:

_Please don’t -_

Eodwulf’s head whips around  to gawk. “The orc from the group? _That’s_ the one you tied yourself to?”

     “No, it does not matter now, that is behind me - “

     “No, it damn well isn’t, you are tied to him, by blood and promise! It is not some little trick performed lightly, it’s more than - ” Eodwulf shuts his mouth with a click. His expression turns grim, dark. His fingers unclench from fists. “Well, never mind that for now.”

Before Caleb can say anything to that, Eodwulf pulls a knife from his belt and holds the thin blade against Caleb’s throat with viciousness that almost makes him jump.

_Oh,_ he thinks dizzily. It’s the same knife Eodwulf used on his parents. Same engravings on the blade.

Eodwulf was so proud of it when he got it as a birthday present, bragged and boasted about it until Caleb toyed with possibility of shoving him into a lake just to make him shut up.

     “The barbarian woman,” Eodwulf growls, and the memory fades, “where did she go?”

Oh, this is the questioning.

It leaves a sour, rusty taste on Caleb’s tongue. It’s quite jarring, he thinks half-way detached, to be on this side of the interrogation.

The knife is cold against his skin.

Caleb is very careful not to shiver. “I do not know,” he replies as evenly as he can. At this point, his nerves are in shreds, but some twisted part of him that was present during the - the _executions_ makes him straighten himself. “She does not tell where she goes.”

     “How does she find you?”

     “I have not asked. It’s not any of my business what she does.”

     “Is she a spy?”

     “I do not know. I do not think so.”

The blade disappears from his throat, but Caleb doesn’t dare to exhale.

Astrid steps beside Eodwulf, the muscles in her neck standing out. “Caleb. Are you really going to make us do this?” she asks.

     _“I_ am not the one making you do anything,” Caleb replies. He’s not an idiot, he knows exactly what’s going to happen, and he’s not looking forward to it.

     “This is no time for stubbornness, Caleb,” Astrid murmurs, and for the shortest moment, she looks torn. Then it’s gone, and she snaps her fingers.

It sounds like an explosion tearing through Caleb’s ears, but _it’s not._

Because she’s inside his head.

He can feel her slithering inside his skull, an alien, strange presence that’s cluttering and probing and hissing and clawing through his memories like a beast that has smelled fresh blood, and it’s such an unnatural sensation that Caleb wants to _scream -_  

     “Now, think of her. The woman.”

Caleb’s back arches, he thinks in horror that he might actually lose his mind this time for real. Terror floods into his veins, kicks him toward hysterical breakdown, his mind isn’t his, there’s someone _else in there -_ this is wrong, _so so wrong -_

\- _don’t think about her, don’t think about her -_

He slips, into the comfort of the Mighty Nein - Fjord, Fjord, no, _Yasha -_

_please don’t, don’t -_

He hasn’t missed Astrid’s magic. It’s too sharp now, ruthless, and his whole perception fills of her, _her her_ sinking her teeth into his brain and digging up everything she can. Suddenly she stumbles back, nearly colliding with Eodwulf.  

     “An aasimar,” she gasps, and the horrible pressure disappears around Caleb’s temples, leaving him slumped, trembling. Her eyes are wide. “She’s a fallen aasimar.”

     “From Xhorhas?” Eodwulf demands, scowling.

     “She got the _wings -_ skeletal, Eod - “

They forget Caleb then, turning toward each other and talking in low voices. Caleb’s head feels like splitting apart like an overripe fruit.

_Passing out would be good right now -_

His consciousness swims and fades to vague and white, and he only startles awake when he feels a pair of cold lips press on his forehead.

     “You are really hopeless, Caleb,” Astrid murmurs, and he blinks blearily up at her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

     “Oh, I - I’d imagine the same g - goes for you.”

Her lips form a line. “It is different, and you know it.”

Caleb heaves a dry, wet sigh, closes his eyes again. He doesn’t want to argue. He just wants to sleep. He wants this to end. The sense of time loses meaning to him and everything drifts aimlessly around him.

Somewhere nearby, he hears Astrid’s robes rustle and Eodwulf mutter: “ - vel safe. Tell him what we’ve found.”

     “I’ll take the maps, too, just so you know...”

     “I - good idea...watch yourself on the Amber Road, it was not - ”

They both pause, and Caleb senses them glancing at him. “He’ll want to talk to him,” she murmurs.

     “I know that.”

     “Good. Don’t let him - “ She trails off, changing her mind and then settles for: “See you, soon. Remember to eat.”

Caleb faints after that.

+

Caleb dreams of the ocean.

Of the dark waves, slowly rolling toward a ship he doesn’t recognize, and the setting sun paints the water red and golden.

Calen sinks, _sinks_ under the water, watching the last rays of the sun filter through the deep blue.

It’s calm. It’s serene. _It’s safe._

All the panic, guilt, shame, horror that has been rotting inside him washes clean, leaves his mind clear and peaceful.

He floats there, just existing in this moment.

_Just floating._

A new sensation trickles into his awareness. He can feel warmth settling on his bones like a comforting blanket, and... it feels like a person. A familiar presence wrapped around him, breathing in an even, slow rhythm, chest against Caleb’s back, nearly becoming one -

_...Fjord...?_

The presence shifts as if surprised.

_Ca - ?_

+

Caleb stirs awake, with a gurgling breath and wheezing lungs. He coughs, tastes blood, his head hurts, and _oh yes,_ he remembers. He instantly misses that dream.

     “Awake, are you?” Eodwulf drawls nearby. He’s kneeling by the stove, and the firelight casts odd angles, deep shadows across his face as he feeds the flames with kindling. Astrid’s gone.  

_It’s just us._

Caleb has no idea whether or not that’s a good thing or not - it could end in his death in either way. He hauls himself into a clumsy sitting position and hisses, grasping at his side.

     “She left,” Eodwulf remarks and pokes the fire. The stove’s hatch spits out embers; they glow and flicker out. “In case you were wondering.”

     “I was not, but all right.”

Eodwulf snorts. “Liar,” he says, but it sounds gritty in his teeth, like he’s helpless against it. Caleb’s stomach tightens, and he forces himself to look away. _Do not think about it._ “So... made a deal with a beast, then, did you?”

     “Well now, that is rude, do not be so rude,” Caleb finds himself answering and his body goes cold with the realization just how much he sounds like them. Easy-flowing, mocking, all words smooth like polished copper -

_Do not drag me back into that shell, like I was, how I acted. Do not drag me back into me that was before._

_Answer him._

_\- finger guns like how fjord does it, makes the burn easier, makes the magic easier, just like he does it -_

_\- breathe -_

“He is a good man. A good friend.”

_always, he said._

     “Just a friend who just agrees to a blood pact?” Eodwulf sounds suspicious and pats soot away from his trousers. 

_‘always’_

     “And yet that is what he did,” Caleb answers and bites his lip. _Dammit._ He’s slipping. Focus.

     “No, _and yet,_ you left them. Your friends? You _ran,_ ” Eodwulf snaps and rises back to his feet. “So, let’s play with the idea that you get out of here. What will you do? Will you return to them with your tail between your legs? Do you honestly think they will let you? Blood pact or no?”

Caleb tenses, his fingers playing with a hole on the seam. “They are good people,” he says, instead.

     “So you want to return, is that it?” Eodwulf’s teeth glint in the light. “Or does that mean they won’t let you if they find out? Do they know?”

_Of the fire, of the screams, the crackling of the burning wood, the smell of  -_

     “They don’t, do they? You like to keep the cards close to your chest after all. It’ll be a miracle if they don’t spit at you,” Eodwulf chuckles. “Oh, you don’t know how to be a good friend, do you, Caleb? Even less of a lover.”  

     “Stop it.” Now it comes out of Caleb’s mouth jagged, tight.

     “Hit a nerve, did I?” Eodwulf tilts his head. “Perhaps good then. No one likes to sleep with a beast.”

Except Fjord is not the beast in this scenario, now is he?

     “Why are doing this?” Caleb asks, reaching to rub that painful spot on his forehead. He should be surprised, he should not be asking these questions, he should be quiet or running or _anything,_ but he’s...he’s here. “Any of this?”

     “Do not play this game, Caleb. Enough.”

     “It is not _,_ far from it, I think. He does not care. Not about us. Not about anyone - “

     “Shut _up - “_

     “ - why else order us to kill our own parents except to show his power over us and use it for cruelty?”  

Eodwulf turns and snarls: “ _Careful._ What stops me from going to your friends right now? Killing them in their sleep?”

Snapped. Red-hot fury, pulsing, _pulsing_ out under the cracks of Eodwulf’s mask. Caleb stares, stunned.

Ikithon has not stopped, then. Any of it. They are still weapons in his arsenal. As if they are still children in the Academy, beaten and breathless and bruised after making a mistake in simple magic.  

_(are these excuses, caleb widogast? it was **your** fire, remember)_

Eodwulf exhales and shoots a victorious grin at him when Caleb doesn’t answer.

     “That’s right. Nothing. And _you_ are. Perhaps they are one and the same. So be nice, Caleb. I could do so much worse, you should be grateful.”

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter kinda gave me trouble and I'm not sure about how well I handled Eodwulf tbh - you can decide how to interpret his and Caleb's relationship. This story is running away from me, like oh man. I can't even settle for a proper chapter count, good god.   
> I still hope you liked the chapter? Widofjord is still some ways away and Caleb's dealing with his past and what he's done recently. Thank you for reading and for your patience! Your comments are always more than appreciated! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eodwulf and Caleb and many conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this show had ran out of ways to hurt me but 'lo and behold, here we are.

They had their roles back then, years ago.

In a sick, twisted way. Even butchers follow certain patterns, don’t they?

Astrid was the one who stabbed from the dark, hissing like an alley cat, struck before anyone could even see her. Draped around shadows, wearing it on her skin like a favourite dress.

Eodwulf was the unstoppable force. The brutal strength, snapping bones in clean fractures. Casting a terrifying shadow, even as a seventeen year old. A smile that was too wide, too thin, too hungry.

And Caleb.

Caleb was the silver tongued one, the one who charmed and told them without blinking ‘ _I suggest you tell us the truth’._ He was the one who clawed out the answers and half-conscious confessions and terrified gasps - he’s the one who got the truth out.

Or what they thought was the truth, back then.

_How proud he was, back then._

The thought is an old one, and it still drops an enormous weight of guilt on him, crushing him and his scream of horror into a whisper _i did that, i did that - how could i do that all of that?_

Caleb’s head hurts. Thinking hurts. His mind feels wrong, too light, too dizzy as if someone has burnt out the inner walls to bare flesh.

     “Why the orc?”  

     “Really?” Caleb manages to ask, slurring. _Focus._ “Of - of all the questions you could ask, you want to ask about him?”

Eodwulf stiffens, but then snorts. “Hardly. It is one of the more peculiar ones, though. You... using that sort of thing... something so vulgar...there must be something else there.”

_A lot, yes, but none what I want to tell you._

     “It is a promise, nothing more exciting than that,” Caleb replies and wishes he could rub his wrist; the shackles have burnt a painful raw ring on the skin.

     “Bullshit. You do nothing by halves, gutter rat or no.”

Caleb says nothing.

     “Is he your lover?”

Ah, there is it.

_Lover. As if Fjord would -_

Caleb opens his eyes and looks Eodwulf straight in the eyes. “No.”

     “Are you lying to me?”

     “I am not. Did _Ikithon_ tell you to ask if I have a lover?”

A muscle in Eodwulf’s jaw tightens, and his hand twitches into a loose fist and back open again.

     “You’ve got more teeth than I remember,” he snorts, shaking his head. “Dropped all the pretense, did you? This is you that the Asylum carved out, huh?”

     “If you want to believe that, be my guest, I am not stopping you.” The chair creaks under his weight as he shifts again. His left leg is falling asleep. The Sanatorium was more than anything Eodwulf could imagine, it was full of empty corridors and suffering. Sounds echoing across the hallways. It did not carve anything, but more or less peeled back.

He hears Eodwulf’s teeth click together. It’s quite a sharp sound. Caleb sighs. _Might as well, then._

     “Do you have something you want to say to me?”

The veins in Eodwulf’s neck stand out. He’s as still as a marble statue.

     “You _failed,”_ he finally snarls, barely controlled emotion slithering out. “You failed his mission.”

     “I did.”

     “And then you stabbed someone and ran. Hid away. And now... you’ve done a blood pact with an orc. What the hell ha - who the hell _are you?”_

 _I am me,_ Caleb thinks, _I am Caleb and - and probably something more and less than at seventeen._

     “It was sixteen years ago,” Caleb replies quietly, hanging his head low. “I am not the - the same as I was then. I do not know what else to tell you.”

     “Bullshit, you’re running, again. Putting space between what happened and what you did and pretending you’re somehow above us, a different person who did the same as we did but the only difference is it’s with a _fucking_ bleeding heart now - “

     “I am not pretending _anything - !”_

     “No? With the ‘Mighty Nein’? With your orc? You haven’t told them a damn thing, that _is_ pretending! When you - “ Eodwulf forces himself to stop, sets his mouth together and seems to hold his breathing still. “When you saw us...” His voice is more torn than Caleb’s expected, “you looked like you were scared out of your mind. I have _never_ seen you look like that.”

Caleb has no response for that. No, Eodwulf probably hasn’t - not even in years back in Blumenthal. No reason to be terrified there before, and afterwards...

Terror was for the victims.

Caleb heaves out a sigh. “I will _not_ go back. Not to him, not ever.”

For a split second, Eodwulf’s mask cracks - just for a fleeting second he _hesitates._

     “You really don’t care? You don’t think you owe something to him? After he took care of you?”  

 _‘Took care’,_ Caleb thinks with hint of disdain. Then it dims, and Caleb is just... ready to be done with this whole mess.

     “I thought I owed him many things, before,” he murmurs. “I owe him nothing now. After everything - I will _not_ go to him or bow to his will, no matter what he says, no matter what _you_ say, even if you drag me by the throat there, I refuse.”  

Silence.

It’s a terrible, ringing silence, but a part of Caleb is fiercely proud that he’s managed to say this much.

     “You _idiot,”_ Eodwulf sighs and waves his hand and he’s not there -

\- and suddenly Una Widogast is.

Caleb’s stomach drops, ice fills his lungs, and he can only gawk in silent, stunned horror.

_Mother._

It’s her. Her long, fire-red hair with flowers braided into it, her kind eyes -

_No, no, no -_

     “Caleb,” she says, and it’s been so long, so _long_ since he’s heard her voice, that lilt, a remnant of a different dialect from her home town, the way she drew out some of the vowels and he remembers how the pronounciation used to fascinate him -

_It’s not real -_

Then she smiles, and suddenly it’s wrong. Thin and tight around the corners. The details are all wrong. The eyes are too close to each other. The shade is off, too green. Her nose is more of Eodwulf’s than _hers -_

_It’s all wrong._

_Everything except the voice -_

     “No,” Caleb gurgles, squeezing his eyes shut. “You are - stop this.”

     “Caleb. You look ill. Oh, my dearest little love...”

Caleb grasps the arm rests of the chair with white knuckles. “ _Stop it,”_ he snarls.

     “I love you,” Una Widogast says and the sadness in her voice _kills_ him. “I love you so much. You were so good, the greatest thing I’ve ever added to this world. I love you.”

     “Don’t - _please don’t - “_

_Stop, stop - you are not her, you are not her, stop tainting that - !_

But she continues: “I still loved you...even though you set our home on fire. Even though we burned. I loved you till the very end, Caleb - “

     “ _Please - !”_

Caleb’s voice shatters.  

Logically he knows it’s not real. He knows this isn’t his mother. His mother is dead and ash and bones beside his father in the soil of their old home, and _this is not her -_

_But - but still - !_

In his mind, by the edges of his horror and agony, something shifts. Something warm and familiar like the sunset on the ocean waves, and underneath it all, he senses a ripple of frantic energy.

Energy that does not belong to him.

  _‘ - aleb?!’_

An echo that is not from him.

Caleb barely hears it.

He just hears his mother’s voice, his mother’s voice that breaks and sounds like _sobbing, and gods, he can hear her - !_

     “Stop it - please, do not do this - “

     “You did this, Caleb. To me, to your father. Do you not want to make amends? To us? To your teacher?”

Caleb’s grip tightens.

His mind wrenches open, and everything rushes out; guilt, horror, shame, _guilt-guilt-guilt, oh, gods, i did that, i’m sorry - !_

\- flames, flames reaching higher to the house’s roof, spitting embers and smoke, and the wood creaks and crashes to the ground, _they are screaming inside - HELP THEM - !_

_‘ - aleb! CALEB - !’_

It slowly sinks through the crystal clear memories; deep baritone bouncing through it all - but - _but that can’t be -_

His thought process gets cut off by a booming noise. The door in the room explodes open; pieces of wood scatter across the floor, and Caleb hears a very familiar goblin screech:

     “LET HIM GO, YOU FUCKER!”

Few things happen. Mother-ghost-Eodwulf freezes, and the floor quakes under Caleb’s boots, and the Mighty Nein charges in, in full gear, hair in disarray, and absolutely _livid._

And the only thing Caleb can think: _They’re here._

_They are here and they shouldn’t be and they are going to get hurt, they are going to see -_

     “N - no,” Caleb says, “ - _run - “_

Mother-Eodwulf straightens, and the smile widens. “And the party arrives,” _she_ purrs, and the accent is off and the expression is off and everything is wrong _\- “_ The Mighty Nein.”

     “Yeah, that’s us, asshole - who the fuck are you?” Beau snaps. Her hair’s barely holding up in the bun.

     “E - Eodwulf, it is Eodwulf,” Caleb gurgles from his chair, because Nott and Beau know, they know what it means -

Beau’s eyes widen. “Oh fuck.”  

Eodwulf turns toward Caleb, and the wide shark’s smile on Caleb’s mother’s face is almost _unholy._

     “Caleb, my dearest child,” her voice purrs in Common now, just to twist the knife deeper, “I am so, so proud of you...despite what you have done and what suffering you have caused, you are my greatest pride and joy... even in fire and in ashes - “

Caleb’s breathing hitches, and he can’t, _he can’t,_ bear to look at this. “Please stop it already, it is no use anymore - “

    “That’s enough - “ Fjord growls, the sword in hand -

     “ _HEY!”_

A flash of sparkling pink magic illuminates the room, and a moment later a giant lollipop slams into Eodwulf and sweeps him sideways. The image flickers, distorts and Eodwulf sprawls on the floor _._

Seeing that, Caleb nearly goes limp with relief. At least it’s not his mother anymore.

Nott skirts around the room, diving to Caleb, and she looks _wild._

     “Are you okay, are you hurt - wait, those are - let me pick those! Can you wait, are you gonna be okay?” she asks, distressed, her voice two notes higher than normally.

Caleb can just nod. “ _Ja,_ I - I’m okay,” he manages to reply hoarsely. He’s all right. He _is._

_he has to be._

( _oh, my dearest child - )_

_Stop it._

Eodwulf rises from the floor, and now, he’s exactly the Eodwulf from Solstryce sixteen years ago. Just like Caleb remembers. Tall, intimidating, full of smug glee with bared teeth, something almost feral lurking behind that mask.

     “So you come to his rescue,” he drawls out. “The Mighty Nein. You really have no idea who you think you are protecting.”

_He’s doing it._

Caleb has no doubt about it anymore.

Whatever passed between them just minutes earlier was not enough, the hesitation was not _enough,_ Eodwulf is eager to sink his fangs into Caleb’s throat and make him suffer in any way he can.

Beau lifts her staff. “Watch it, dickhead. We know exactly who he is and what this is about, so that doesn’t mean jack shit.”

     “She knows, then?” Eodwulf asks Caleb. “How about your orc, does he know?”

Caleb’s heart drops.

     “Wait, what?”

_Fjord._

Caleb can’t look at Fjord, but he catches an odd expression on Jester’s face, in the bright glow of her magic, and his guts twist. _No -_

     “He is not mine - “  

     “Being bound together by heart and blood suggests otherwise,” Eodwulf purrs. “I know it’s not the kind of magic we learnt at Solstryce, but still... still you’re _looking._ Looking like you can’t quite help it. Terrible to want, isn’t it? _”_

     “I am not, we are not - “ It sounds weak, even to his own ears. Everything is crumbling. He can’t _stop it._

     “Caleb?” Jester’s voice is uncertain and so very young. “Caleb, what - what is he talking about?”

_No, no, please do not ask me that, Jester -_

Caleb squeezes his eyes shut. He grips at the arm rests. “I - “

Beau snarls: “Okay, you know what, enough bullshit. We’ve had enough. How ‘bout it, fancypants?”

Eodwulf smiles.

Beau who hasn’t seen it before, stiffens immediately.

     “Be my guest, Nein,” Eodwulf says calmly. “Give me your best shot. Save your friend, one of the so-called butchers of the Solstryce Academy.”

_No, no -_

_\- this is it -_

Silence.

Caleb has never hated silence more deeply than in this moment.

     “That’s a surprise, isn’t it? Oh, Caleb, these people you have lied to and manipulated and blackmailed, gods only know how... oh, Nein... do not be sad. He fooled us, too. So, so badly.”

Beau’s had enough. Caleb doesn’t see what others of their group look like, but Beau’s always been... strangely protective, even with the knowledge of what he’s done.

     “Shut your mouth, asshole,” she growls and then -

She attacks.

The way she fights has always been like art.

Polished, quick, _ruthless._

And now - she doesn’t pull her punches.

She’s a whirl wind of absolute fury, and Eodwulf’s eyes widen for a fraction - he’s fought a lot of people, he’s encountered a lot of different skills, but monks... monks are different from Solstryce.

Hesitation is not for Eodwulf, either.

The air crackles with lightning, purple and white, it makes the hair on Caleb’s skin stand - too familiar, too biting, Eodwulf’s lightning always leaves marks -

     “Caleb?” Nott sounds nervous. “Hey, hey, you just wait, I’m almost done - _oh shit!”_

Her hand slips, and the magic in the shackles flares, burning another ring on his skin. Caleb chokes back a hiss, gritting his teeth.

Caleb suddenly hears it - a low roar.

_Fjord._

Fjord’s mouth has twisted into a snarl, his tusks are poking out, and rather dumbly Caleb realizes that he’s _furious._

The raw, visceral anger sears the inside of Caleb’s mind, it’s real and tangible and not his -

\- he can feel it -

 _Why?_ What - he doesn’t -

None of it makes sense.

Nothing.

Caleb head lolls back, his whole body shaking. _He just wants it all to end -_

     “Caleb?” Nott’s panicking. The lock pick keeps slipping in her claws. “Sorry! Sorry, shit - that was on me!”

     “I’m - I’m okay, take your time...” He looks over her head at Beau, at Eodwulf. “Please - please, be careful - “ He watches Eodwulf evade her kick, and something catches Caleb’s eye in a way he moves.

Just a small thing, a small memory of a tree in Blumenthal, an apple tree, a broken branch _-_

 _“Beauregard!”_ he gasps. “His left leg, it has healed wrong!”

Beau doesn’t hesitate. She strikes with her staff, _slams_ into Eodwulf’s leg with bone-breaking force, and Eodwulf grunts, crumbling to the ground.

He snaps his fingers and waves his both hands in front of him, and in a pale blue flash, a wall of ice forms between the Nein and him. Caleb can feel the ice crackling, radiating white frost. His breathing turns visible.

     “Now, that’s something,” Eodwulf says and rises back to his feet. His left leg nearly gives out, and he barely has time to hide his pained grimace. “ _Vicious.”_

     “Why the hell do you want him?” Fjord snaps behind the wall.

Out of breath, Eodwulf barks out a laugh, combs his hair back from his sweaty forehead.

    “You know, that is amazing. I’ve asked that question countless of times. Why waste resources on him. Why keep on eye on him. Why bother since he failed and we didn’t, why still concern ourselves with his well-being. Why, why, why. But he doesn’t tell us why. He is just important... Ikithon’s little golden student. His _pet._ Never mind how broken.”

His lip curls in disgust, his humour fading enough to leave behind real contempt.

     “And here you are, Caleb. The facts are, just as worthless to them as you are to us as yourself.”

Caleb’s throat twitches as he swallows, looking at Eodwulf. “I know what I have done,” he rasps. “I will carry that with me until the day I die. But I will not return to him willingly.”

     “We’ll see,” Eodwulf murmurs and reaches to brush his fingers on Caleb’s chin. It makes him shudder. “It might’ve been easier if you had, but... Ikithon’s got his ways to make you bend.”

     “He can try,” Beau snaps. “He stays with us, so you guys can fuck off.”

     “Oh? You might know, you monks make trade in knowing things no one wants you to know, so... how about the rest of you? Do you know what Caleb here has done? He’s killed and killed, executed - I don’t mind, because it was our duty, our honor to do that for the Empire, but he... he’s a little different, aren’t you? And then he happily set the fire on his home house, burned his - “

Beau acts.

In that moment, Caleb loves her. He loves her with everything he has.

She crushes the ice wall with her fist, scattering glimmering shards across the floor, and she’s on Eodwulf in an instant later.

Her strikes all hit on pressure point after pressure point, Eodwulf’s veins are bulging, his skin turns ashly gray as he struggles -

\- _snap of fingers,_ a shock wave shoves Beau off of him, and Eodwulf glances at Caleb.

     “I think we are done, for now,” he drawls. His lip is split, painting his teeth red. “Stay alive for Ikithon, Caleb. Remember to whom your life belongs to. We’ll see you again, you clever fucking fox.”

He winks, snaps his fingers again, a roar of thunder explodes in the room, and he’s gone.

Caleb can’t bring himself to breathe.

He can’t see it, but Fjord lifts his hand toward him, opens his mouth to ask, but then Beau pushes him aside and goes to Caleb.

\+  

The journey back to the Chateau is quiet.

Caleb hasn’t said a word, he’s shaking in his skin, his body is too tight, his nerves are in shreds, and half terrified out of his mind, he’s waiting for the eruption from somewhere _, anywhere_ that has to happen, they have to know, they want to know _-_

He wants to ask, he wants to ask why or how or _‘do you hate me’,_ and he can’t keep this secret anymore, he _can’t,_ it’s all broken and he doesn’t know how fix it better -

     “You should keep breathing,” Caduceus remarks casually somewhere beside him. Caleb jumps, he’s barely noticed him there - Beau’s taken protective guard on his other side and hasn’t let go of his shoulder.

     “I - “ Caleb clears his throat, squeezes his forearms tighter, his fingers digging into his coat, “ _ja,_ thank you, that - that would be smart, yes.”

What is he even saying? How can he talk about this?

How can he look Jester or Fjord, to see the doubt, the horror, the _disgust_ there, how can he even - ?

     “C’mon,” Beau mutters and steers him toward the Chateau, “let’s get back there. S’fine now.”

Caleb has a feeling he might sound hysterical, so he doesn’t say anything and just nods even if he doesn’t believe in it.

+

Back at the Chateau, Caleb goes to his room and doesn’t come out.

He’s reeling. Everything feels unreal and too bright, and he’s half-convinced he’s been hallucinating the whole nightmare, but it isn’t, his memory doesn’t ever give him small mercies, and now he’s destroyed _everything -_

It was all for nothing.

He’s helped no one. Saved nothing.

_Just a damn coward again._

Frumpkin appears and burrows himself into Caleb’s neck, a warm and breathing _comfort_ and Caleb heaves desperate, silent gasps into the orange fur.

+

The Nein leaves him alone.

A half of Caleb is happy about it, but the rest of him takes it as a confirmation that he’s lost _everything._

They hate him. They _must_ hate him, they know his hands are soaked with blood -

_knock knock_

Caleb swallows. “I - yes?”

     “It’s me, asshole, I come bearin’ gifts - or whatever the hell that means, I brought booze,” Beau says behind the door. “Gonna let me in or do I have to, y’know, break it down, ‘cause I will fucking do that, just so you know.”

Caleb debates that for a second, but goes to open the door. She raises an eyebrow at him. “You look like shit, man.”

     “I - feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

     “Yeah, well, whatever if it’s true. And it is, you look fuckin’ awful. There, have some whiskey.”

Caleb isn’t a fan of strong alcohol, but he takes the bottle nonetheless. They sit on the edge of the bed. It might have been suggestive with any other person, but it has never been like that with Beau, and for that, Caleb is grateful.  

     “Will you answer me, like, truthfully if I ask how you’re doing?” she asks.

     “...I’m fine.”

     “Yeah, thought so. C’mon, cut the bullshit.” Beau takes a swig of her drink, hisses and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Fucking sucks, okay, I get it. That got fucked up, super fast. How’re you really holding up?”

     “I... I don’t know. I - “ Caleb falters. “It was strange seeing him. He knew - he knew exactly how to make things hurtful.”

     “You think you could’ve killed him?”

Beau’s blunt, but there’s a hint of concern lying underneath it all.

Caleb weighs the answer in his mind, biting his lip. “I - I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Beau observes him, but accepts his answer and nods. “Yeah, okay. He was an asshole, like _damn._ Reminds me of those dicks back home, all suited and powdered and thinking they’re slick. Hate shit like that.”

     “... _ja.”_

Beau grips the bottle and says: “Look, your plan sucked, okay? You just _bailed,_ without telling anyone.”

     “Better me than you.”

     “Fucking cry me a river with that, you _know_ that’s not how we do things, we - “ Beau shifts, sucks air between her teeth and tries again.  “I - I know I give you shit like all the time, man, but that - that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t fucking die for you, Caleb. So stop pulling stupid shit like this and fuckin’ _trust_ me. Got that? I know what happened to you and what you did years ago, and I’m still fuckin’ here. I’ve got your back. I’m not gonna just leave you hanging.”

Caleb stares at her. She stares back, her mouth pinched, her chin stubbornly sticking out at him. Daring him to protest.  

He doesn’t.

He can barely process what she’s saying, but - _but -_

 _There’s no ‘but’._ She’s not lying. She’s telling the truth. _She really means it._

     “I - “ He feels weak. His head is light with relief and gratitude. “...thank you, Beauregard.”

It’s too small a phrase to really convey how deeply he feels, just how much he means that, but Beau gets it nonetheless.

Her features soften. “Yeah, well, don’t expect to hear that, like, all the time. Whatever. So what the hell happened with Fjord? What was that?”

     “Oh, is someone talking about Mr. Fjord?” a deep, gravelly voice asks curiously behind the door, and Caleb nearly inhales the rest of the whiskey.

Beau doesn’t even flinch. “Yeah, we are. C’mon in, Caddy, what’cha doing?”

The firbolg peeks in, and he grins. “Oh, nothing, I just figured I’d take a look at Mr. Caleb’s wrists.”

     “Oh, shit, that’s right, that fucker made some messed up shackles. Lemme see, Caleb.”

     “No, I am fine - “

     “If you say that one more time, I’m kicking you ass, Widogast.”

So, that’s how Caleb ends up, being flanked by Beau and Caduceus, and he’s too bone-tired to argue. Suppose this is what friends are, he muses wryly.

     “Nasty work, that,” Caduceus comments as he spreads some salve on the painful rings on Caleb’s skin. “So what about Fjord?”

The salve smells like soil and old herbs, but it’s not unpleasant. “He does not want to see me. He or Jester. I - I have tainted everything.”

     “Nah, I don’t think it works like that,” Caduceus replies gently and wraps Caleb’s wrists in clean gauze. “No offense or anything, but uh, you were just tortured by your former friend or - or teammate from what I understand - everyone understands if you’re not okay.”

     “Did you not hear what he told you about me? What I did?”

     “I heard,” Caduceus says calmly in a way that both reassures and kind of annoys Caleb. “I’m sure there’s an explanation there.”

Caleb gawks at him. Caduceus smiles back serenely.

     “Yeah, he’s something else, right?” Beau says to Caleb and nudges him.

     “ _Ja,_ uh - you - you are a good one, Mr. Clay.”  

     “Oh, thanks! You, too, Mr. Caleb. And uh, while we’re talkin’, you might want to have a discussion or three with Fjord. He - uh, he didn’t take your disappearance well.”

Beau snorts. “Yeah, he went fucking ballistic, burst into our room, scared the shit out of us.”

     “He was very determined,” Caduceus agrees. “Good thing Jester could locate you in the city, otherwise he might have needed a sedative.”

     “Yeah, dude, he nearly ripped the door off the hinges trying to get to your ass, so... I dunno, think what you will, I guess.”

     “He knows now, they _know_ that I am - it barely matters what he was like before, he - it doesn’t matter,” Caleb murmurs weakly. False hope is the worst, so he tries desperately not to think too much of it.

     “I don’t think it’s that severe,” Caduceus says. “I mean, it can be, but also we found you all tortured and in pain and your old friend gloating and revealing things that weren’t his to reveal. But this goes deeper.” He taps his palm, and Caleb pales. “It’s tricky magic, isn’t it?” His voice is still deep and kind. “Talk to him. You might be surprised how it goes.”

     “Or not,” Caleb replies nervously. “He still hasn’t looked me in the eye.”

Beau scoffs.

     “Bull. Shit. He’s an evasive asshole, sure, but he was terrified for you, man. So...so at least talk to him.” When Caleb opens his mouth, Beau glares at him and continues: “Y’know, you’re right, these same fucking conversations really keep comin’ up, so wanna do something about it? The cat’s sorta out of the bag, might as well go all the way, you know? Clear the air or whatever. It’s an option.”

Caleb sighs, rubs his eyes.

     “We’re still here, Caleb,” she says, her tone softer now. “Like, whatever happens. If he says some bullshit, I’ll kick his ass.”

     “Oh, you will?” Caduceus asks, looking fascinated.

     “Hell yeah. Also shut up, I’m trying my best here, get off my dick, thanks. No, sorry, that was aggressive, I can’t say that to you. My _point_ is that they’ll come around.”

     “You sound very sure of that, Beauregard.”

     “Yeah, well, Fjord’s not that complicated.”

     “You... I appreciate that.”

     “Shut up, man... but yeah. You, too. I - I’m glad you’re back. Your old teammate was a major asshole.”

     “ _Ja,_ he’s...confused.”

     “No, fuck that, confused is like, ‘why’s there dog shit on my shoe’, not ‘let’s torture my old teammate for not wanting to return to our super abusive mentor’.”

Caleb pauses. “That’s... _ja,_ all right.”

     “You disagree with me?”

     “No, I am not, you are absolutely right, I’m - it is just jarring. I did not expect him to abandon the propaganda - the Empire is harsh.”

     “‘Cause it’s fucked up, yeah. Man, we can’t get rid of it, it always comes out of the left field. I’m sorry, though.”

     “For what?”

     “I’m not sorry for going for his fucking throat, but I’m sorry you had to go through that. That what he said, what was your Mom? All kinda messed up.” She squeezes his shoulder and brushes her forehead quickly against it. “Is it just me or are the happy reunions usually crap with us?”

     “No, it is not just you.”

     “Hug would be nice, I guess,” Caduceus muses, “fits the conversation, right?”

Beau squints up at him over Caleb. “We’re not a hugging type of people, Cad.”

     “Every person needs a hug sometime. This is one of those times. C’mon, you two.”

     “ _Fine._ C’mere, Caleb. Gods, you’re thin, you need to eat more.” 

But she holds onto him with every bit of her strength, resting her chin on his bony shoulder, and lets him wrap his arms around her as well. He relaxes into her embrace.

     “I’ve got your back, Caleb,” she murmurs, her hand clutching the back of his coat. “So don’t run.”

He holds her tighter.

     “...thank you.”

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eodwulf really resents Caleb, all the years of grudge and jealousy just bubbling over at the sight of him. It was fascinating to write!! He also came REALLY close to being killed in this. I mean, I had plans to kill him when I started writing this. Then I just didn't. 
> 
> Thank you so much for being so patient with me, I know Fjord hasn't had a big part in this yet, and I'm really sorry about that! I know you're here for Widofjord and I promise it's gonna happen! THEY'RE GONNA HAVE A TALK OR THREE!!  
> (you're all amazing, thank you for being on this ride with me!) <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are conversations and dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, how about that new episode? Literally made my jaw drop.  
> DAMNIT, I'm always one ep too slow :D

Caleb isn’t ready.

He suspects he might never be ready for these conversations and thinks he should probably be drunk for this. As a general rule, he doesn’t really believe in alcohol as a coping mechanism, dulling the sharp pain until everything is blurred and bearable and he’s forgotten Eodwulf and Astrid and _Mother -_

 _-_ but now  - _now,_ on the brink of losing everything that he’s come to hold dear...

...he’s almost tempted to empty the whole thing.

But he doesn’t.

He stares ahead, taps his fingers together, _tap-tap-tap._ Breathe. He’s shaking. _Breathe, you do know how to breathe, do you not?_

So he does.

Stares at Fjord’s door and tries to shake off that cold panicked feeling again that whispers _you have to run, drop everything and RUN -_

_\- you could ruin everything, you WILL ruin everything, he will hate you, he’s going to be disgusted by you, what did you expect - ?_

Stop it.

Caleb doesn’t quite feel like himself; he’s too aware, too sensitive to lights, to the perfume hanging in the corridor, he’s too jittery, he just - he thinks desperately _he needs to fix this in any way he can_.

Although after everything, after _Eodwulf,_ it might be less like fixing and more like breaking it further beyond repair.

\- disgust, horror, _you did that to your own parents?_ Caleb stiffens, and his breathing hitches. _Calm down, calm down -_

_STOP IT._

Now, nearly heaving shallow breaths, Caleb grips his forearms tighter and forces himself to stay in place.

_Talk to him._

_At least you have tried._

But is it a too great a risk? To lose the one he - ?

_At least after this you won’t have to lie anymore._

That is not a comfort. It is not a comfort if he loses everyone by telling everything, but... _but._

He deserves no clemency, no sympathy, no forgiveness, _nothing._ The faster Fjord sees than, the better it is for everyone. _T_ _hat_ never changes. It’ll always be there, gnawing on his mind. Struggling with his own thinking, Caleb raises his hand to knock, but the door swings open, and Jester nearly walks into him.

     “Oh! Caleb!” she squeaks, and Caleb freezes.

He hasn’t anticipated this. He’s not ready. He doesn’t _\- doesn’t know what to do._

The silence in the hallway is painfully awkward. He hears laughter downstairs, the clink of utensils. The squeaky bed springs above them. The piano. He flushes in shame and looks away, coldness pooling in his gut.

She came from Fjord’s room, after all, it seems almost improper for him to see her -

But she is dressed as she’s always been, her hair now neatly done into an eloborate braid, a pink ribbon tied to her horn. She watches him nervously.

     “Caleb?”

     “No, my - my apologies. Is - is Fjord inside?” Caleb asks, staring at a stain on the hallway’s wallpaper. His left arm prickles and threatens to go numb.

     “What? Oh, sure he is,” Jester replies and steps ever-so slightly to the side so she’s back in his direct vision. She has deep concerned creases between her eyebrows. “Caleb...”

Caleb is not sure if he wants to hear what she has to say. It can only be painful, and for all his masochistic tendencies, he doesn’t want to dig the knife deeper. Not with _them._

     “I - I really need to speak with him, I am sorry, Jester.”

Jester stills, and in the nearby candle light, she looks _heartbroken._ Caleb doesn’t understand why, but seeing that, his stomach lurches and he fumbles: “It - it will not take long, I promise. I - I will be quick.”

     “What do you want to talk to him about?” she asks, uncertain. She looks at him under her bangs, careful and worried, and she should _not_ look like that, not at him.

Caleb sucks his top lip against his teeth. “I - it is something that happened before... before I left,” he grunts. “He was there, and I was not kind.”

     “You put a spell on him,” Jester nods, and hearing that, from _her,_ makes him flinch. “You put him to sleep, right?”  

Caleb looks at his feet. “... _ja._ That is true, I...I did.”

     “...he was reaally upset when he woke up,” she murmurs, tugging her bracelets. “He was pretty angry.”

     “...I know.”

The dark colour of her eyes shift, sparkles and glimmers, and he’s not sure if those are tears. He desperately wishes they are not.

     “He - we thought you were gonna die,” she whispers, her voice cracking in the middle. “We didn’t know - and you were gone and Beau freaked out and we didn’t know why, she just said we have to find you _now_ ‘cause it’d be really, really bad and I tried, okay, I _tried,_ Caleb, but I wasn’t fast enough - !”

     “No, no, _nein,_ Jester - Jester, listen - none of it was your fault. Do you hear me? None of it,” Caleb emphasizes and reaches for her, but stops just above her shoulder. “It was my fault, my decision, and - and I made you all worry. I - I could have gotten you all killed. I am so... so sorry, it - it was not a good plan, no.”

     “And - and you were hurt. Caleb, you were so, so hurt...”

     “...no, he was not so gentle with me.”

Jester’s lips are trembling, the lines around her mouth visible. “He... was he - “ The question gets stuck in her throat, and she tries to steel herself to ask it. “You really were at Soltryce, Caleb?”

     “...I - yes, I was. It was a long time ago,” he murmurs. “But I...”

_He can’t._

Not right now. It’s too much, too angular and razor-sharp in his mouth, he’s torn in too many directions, too many thoughts settling like a stone in his head.

     “I - I will explain everything,” he says swallowing. “But I will not do it now. Now I - I have to talk to Fjord. All right?”

Jester sniffs. “You promise?”

     “...yes. I promise.”

Even though he’s more than aware of the possibility that his promise will shatter his heart in the worst way.

     “Promise not to leave again?”

_Oh, Jester..._

She really is too good for any of them. But he knows the answer before he even has time to think about it.

_Yes...until you throw me out. It - it is not up to me, not anymore._

     “I promise.”

Jester struggles to smile, and it’s that same worn, broken smile that says _‘i’m a really good liar’._

     “Okay, Caleb,” she says so very softly. Then she gathers her shawls in her arms and says: “He’s there. Okay, I’m - I’m gonna find Nott!”

With that, she leaves, and Caleb feels even more off-kilter than moments before. He’s dizzy, his mouth is paper-dry and his pulse sends waves of nausea in his stomach. He has to do this. Gods, he really has to. After everything he at least owes an explanation.

He presses his forehead against the door, breathes shakily through the nose. _Just do it, for once in your life, you coward._

     “Fjord?” Caleb manages to say and knocks, his eyes squeezed shut. “Can - can we talk?”

It’s quiet on the other side of the door.

_He doesn’t want to see you._

Caleb feels like throwing up.

     “Fjord...?”

His voice doesn’t break, but it’s a damn near thing.

Finally, he hears: “Yeah, I’m - I’m here. Come in.”

Bracing himself, Caleb exhales, grabs the doorknob - and goes in.

+

Fjord has stood up, with an apparent intention to go for the door. He looks tired; there are circles around his eyes, and his stubble is especially prominent now, in the rich glow of the light.

Caleb isn’t ready.

He’s frozen to the doorstep, his heartbeat pounding hot in his temples. He’s amazed he’s got half a mind to close the door behind him, and instantly, the shaking in his hands gets worse.

The air’s tense between them, ready to snap at the slightest noise.

He _isn’t ready -_

Caleb swallows thickly, fumbles with the bandages around his wrists.

     “I - I’m sorry for - for disturbing you, but I wanted to talk to you,” he says, his voice catching in his throat. “If that’s all right?”

A heavy shadow falls across Fjord’s scarred features. “Yeah, s’all right,” he grunts, running a hand across his mouth.

_I should not be here._

     “ _Ja, ja,_ okay, I - “ Caleb tries to get his head under control; his thoughts are slow as molasses, dull and not working right, and he has to say something _now - !_ “I wish to apologize.”

Fjord’s hand pauses in mid-motion, and he frowns. “Apologize? For what?”

     “For hurting you,” Caleb replies and lifts his chin up. “It was...cruel and not kind, and I want to apologize for using my magic on you.” 

     “You don’t have to do t - “ Fjord shuts his mouth, swallows, and Caleb watches his throat move. Tension quivers through Fjord’s body, like the waves crashing through their ship. “I - Caleb, the last time I saw you, you were freaking out. You were frantic, like full on panickin’. And I couldn’t do a damn thing to help.”

     “I did not exactly give you a chance,” Caleb points out with a weak laugh.

     “...yeah, kinda sucks, but I get it. No, I _do,”_ Fjord adds when Caleb opens his mouth. “You thought it was necessary. You thought you were protecting the group. But fuck - I - I didn’t know if you were dead or kidnapped, I - I thought we weren’t gonna find you alive. I - “

Fjord makes a jagged, painful noise in the back of his throat, and he turns away, his hand covering his mouth. “Fuck if that didn’t make me lose my mind a bit, Caleb.”

The words hit Caleb like a sledgehammer, and his sense of the whole conversation shifts again. Fjord seems to have that effect on him, lately; stripped him completely unaware.

     “You saw him,” he says hoarsely. “You _heard_ what he said.”

Something dims in Fjord’s eyes, and he nods wearily. “Yeah, I did.”

Caleb inhales sharply and braces himself. Tries to steel his bones for the heartbreak that will carve itself into his very being, _because it will happen, and he deserves every bit of the agony._

     “He - he was not wrong, you know.” He forces a smile that breaks him further. “I really did what he said.”

Fjord tenses. “You don’t have to tell me - “

A hysterical laugh pours out of Caleb’s mouth, and now he can’t stop it. “I do. I really, really do, there is nothing I should do more than _tell,_ for once. Why are you - I put a spell on you. You tried to help and I did that to you. You should be _furious_ with me already.”

Fjord searches Caleb with his gaze. It’s not a sharp, piercing thing, but it settles on Caleb warm and amber-bright. _Comforting._

     “I’m not. I wasn’t,” the half-orc murmurs.

     “The others said you were.”

Fjord shakes his head. “Caleb, I was fucking terrified for you. You get that, right? You were scared out of your mind, and we found you tortured and in the middle of your worst nightmare.”

 _Tortured._ Caleb feels ill. His skin itches. _Remember that? Remember what you did? You did that, too._

_Say it. Confess. Say it to him, say it to him, before he is too invested -_

_\- he has to know -_

_SAY IT_

Each thought pierces through Caleb’s walls, crushes them and crumbles to dust. 

_say it_

So Caleb struggles to find his voice and finally manages to whisper in anguish: “Fjord, I - he was not lying - I was at Soltryce, and I killed people, I killed my _parents.”_  

There is no way to take it back anymore. It’s out. The scar on his palm burns, and Caleb’s fear bleeds through. _Please, say something, please, bitte -_  

     “Caleb...”

It’s such a low, _soft_ noise, and Caleb can’t handle it.

No. Don’t stop, don’t _stop, just push it through, CLENCH YOUR TEETH AND PUSH FORWARD -_

Caleb squeezes his eyes shut again. The candle light flickers against his lids.

     “I have no excuse, no - no reason to defend myself with. I _did_ that, I set my home on fire and they died. I killed them.”

     “ _Caleb - “_

But Caleb doesn’t listen. He’s unravelling, he’s falling - _down down - he’s FALLING -_

     “They were screaming and crying inside the house, and I did that - it was because of me, because I thought they were traitors to the Empire and I _killed_ them.”

The silence is suffocating. It prickles under Caleb’s skin, digs and pulls and he can smell the smoke - the _screams_ echo in his skull - the heat from the fire - _no no no -_

     “ - ey! _Hey,_ hey, Caleb, c’mon - sit down, c’mon - “

Caleb can hear Fjord’s deep rumble through the ragged sound of his own breathing. He can feel it vibrating through his own flesh and blood. He’s dimly aware of Fjord’s hand gripping his shoulder through the coat’s leather and herding him to sit down on the bed.

     “Hey, s’okay, breathe, Caleb. Deep breaths, c’mon. Can you do that?”

For some reason Caleb tries. He doesn’t understand what is going on anymore. None of this makes any sense at all. He wonders if he’s actually lost his mind now.

     “Why?” he wheezes out, rubbing his thin chest. “Why are you - you should not - “

Fjord raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? You know what I think? I think it’s not as cut and dried as that.”

     “You do not know that. What if it is? It does not change anything, they were good people and their own son _murdered_ them.”

Caleb’s voice shatters.

     “You don’t have to tell me, Caleb,” Fjord murmurs, his big hand settling somewhere between Caleb’s shoulder blades.

Caleb nearly wrenches himself free, but he has no strength left in him anymore.

     “You should be disgusted, Fjord. You should _hate me!_ You who value family - do not just - do not just stand there, please - I - _Scheiße_ \- “

He’s in a free fall. His head is spinning. Everything splits at the corners, he’s alone in his own personal hell -

\- _the screams -_

_STOP -_

_‘who are you?’_

_‘save your friend, one of the so-called butchers of the Soltryce Academy.’_

_‘he’s killed and killed, executed - and then he happily set the fire on his home house, burned his - ‘_

_No, I - I have to -_

_If I tell him nothing else, this is the one thing that I have to tell -_

So bit by bit, word by word, Caleb does. He tells Fjord everything. His time at Soltryce, about Eodwulf and Astrid, about Ikithon.

He tells him everything. Leaves nothing out.

It’s such an ugly, jumbled little tragedy.

In the end, Fjord’s quiet, and Caleb’s drained, hollowed, trembling so violently his teeth chatter together.

He’s done it.

He’s said it. Sick light-headedness swims in his head, his vision is blurred, and for the first time since Trostenwald and the circus, he’s bare to Fjord, raw and real and so terribly just Caleb.

_Just ‘himself’._

With all the cracks, all the flaws, all the imperfections.

There is no pretend anymore. No more secrets. No lies.

Just Caleb.

Whether it ends in hate or disgust, he’s finally done it.

Finally, Fjord speaks, and his voice is low, more pronounced and lacking his usual drawl. “Caleb. I’m so sorry.”

     “Please, do not say it was not my fault. It was absolutely my fault,” Caleb says, exhausted to his very marrow.

     “Okay, I won’t - fair enough. But gods, you were just a fucking _kid._ He manipulated you, lied and abused your trust, gods fucking above.”  

     “It does not matter if it was a lie or not, I still did that, I still killed them! I made that choice!”

     “Was it even that? I mean, was it a choice, at all? You were a kid, he beat the shit out of you and he was _there_ with you when it happened,” Fjord points out, scowling. “Doesn’t sound like any kinda choice at all.”

It sounds so reasonable, it sounds so logical, and everything in Caleb screams just to believe it, just to throw himself into that and take it, he just wants to believe it could be that simple.

Fjord continues tentatively: “Look, I’m not saying you can’t feel what you’re feeling, but Caleb, as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been wracked with guilt.”

     “That does not matter, that does not change anything that’s happened - “

     “No, but it still damn well does. Now I know it isn’t all simple and clean-cut and it’s a fucking mess of everything from bullshit politics to fucking grooming, but damn, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. And for the record...” Fjord hesitates and he glances at Caleb, “I’ve got your back. If you ever need - for as long as you need me.”  

Caleb gawks. He hears it, but his hazy brain cannot grasp it in any tangible way. It can’t be as that simple. It _can’t._

     “Why?” he croaks. “Why would you? Now that you _know_ everything, what I’ve done _\- ?”_

     “’Cause I fuckin’ care what happens to you, how about that?” Fjord counters without flinching, and he’s so close that Caleb can make out the thin, white scars on his face, can count the golden-greenish specks in his irises. He’s so _close._ “You hear me?” Fjord’s voice takes a gravelly quality to it. “I’m glad to have met you.”

     “You - you are absolutely insane - “ Caleb says weakly.

     “Nope, just seen a lot of shit to know it isn’t all black and white. How can I throw any fucking stones here, after what happened with Avantika? With Uk’otoa?”

     “That is not the same, but...” Caleb sighs, weak and utterly drained, his head hanging low.

After a beat of hesitation, Fjord lowers his hand to the nape of Caleb’s neck. Relief floods into Caleb, and he nearly goes limp at the contact. It’s a searing hot, firm touch, causing him to shiver and lean instinctively into it.

It’s comforting _,_ Caleb realizes, fascinated by the rough callouses on Fjord’s palm, dragging an amazing sensation on his skin. But through it...

...through it, he becomes aware of something else.

Something safe and warm filters through the haziness, something that is as large as the bright blue waves in Nicodranas, clear and welcoming, illuminating the black void that’s been in Caleb for so, so long...

... _the scent of sea salt, familiar creaking leather, a huff of laugh, grin of growing tusks -_

He opens his eyes, heavy-lidded and breathes it in.

Damn him for wanting, damn him for wanting something he cannot have, something that Fjord can never give, but he takes greedily what he can.

Fjord murmurs: “I’ve got you, Caleb. For as long as you let me.”

And a part in Caleb - the part that is desperate and longing whispers: _Always._

+

They still don’t talk about the blood pact, but Caleb can’t help but to think of it as progress nonetheless.

That doesn’t mean he understands any of it, because he doesn’t. The whole situation has to be completely insane - why would Fjord say that? _React_ like that?

_’Cause I fuckin’ care what happens to you._

That’s what he said. He said that to Caleb. He knows and that is what he _said?_

Caleb mulls it over in his head, analyzes and weighs the tone and the words letter by letter, second by second and frowns when he can’t figure it out. 

That... is certainly something.

He’s not sure _what_ it is, but it is something.

+

He can’t fall asleep; he’s too wired high, adrenaline is still burning his blood, sending electrical sparks into his brain, making him twitchy.

About two hours after his chat with Fjord, Nott sneaks in.

She says nothing, she climbs on the bed and pats Caleb’s bony side gently. “We don’t have to talk about it,” she says, and he stills, facing the wall. “But you were really brave out there.”

     “I... was not, but thank you for saying that.”

He can’t see what she looks like, but she curls against his spine like a sleepy cat. “You were. I - kinda wanted you to wake me up when it all happened, but... I’m really glad we found you. It was hard, not knowing where you were.”

     “...I’m sorry.”

     “No, no, I understand even if - if I don’t approve. You were brave. So, so brave. And we were really worried.”

His fingers brush absently against the pillow case’s frayed hem. “I’m sorry.”

     “N - no, no, I’m not - I’m not scolding you. I’m just...” Her breathing hitches between her large, messy fangs. She presses her forehead between his shoulder blades. “I’m so happy you’re here. And alive, that’s - that’s the best part.”

Caleb’s throat feels dry. “... _ja._ It is. Thank you for coming for me.”

     “Of course. Of course we came for you.”

It’s quiet.

Caleb’s always liked these silent moments with Nott; it’s easy to _exist_ beside her and not fill the gaps with empty chatter and platitudes.

     “You... like Fjord, don’t you?”

Caleb freezes. His heart drops.

     “He - he is a good man,” he answers weakly and hears Nott snort.

     “No, he’s not! He’s awful! A bastard man of the worst quality! He talked to me about buttons, like what the fuck was that even about. _Buttonbeard the pirate,”_ she scoffs, and her indignation makes him smile, despite what she’s just asked him. “Caleb, you could do so much better! And besides, he and Jester - “

Her sentence screeches to a halt as she realizes what it means, and Caleb sighs.

     “I know.”

     “Oh, _shit.”_ He can hear her chewing anxiously on something. “I - made things worse for you, didn’t I? Well, fuck.”

     “No, no, my feelings are my problem. You did the right thing. It was good.”

She shifts, the sheets rustling under her. “But not for you,” she murmurs and sounds disappointed. 

     “ _Ach,_ well, it is not so bad. They are happy, right? That is what matters.”

It’s quiet for a moment again, and he can sense her brain going hundred miles per hour. Finally she blurts: “What do you even see in him? Why him, of _all_ people?”  

Isn’t that the simple question?

Caleb knows, deep in his very core, he does know why it’s Fjord, of all of the Nein, why him.

Steady, confused, frantic, reasonable and so very clever _._

_\- something so terribly vulnerable and bare underneath it all._

Loyal despite the temptation, and Caleb understands that dark, seductive trap so intimately well he can’t help but to _know_ what it means. Caleb’s seen it in Fjord’s distressed eyes back at sea, and in a flash, he _understood._

It is a reflection, an echo and something desperately familiar touching him back in a way that has nothing to do with the blood pact.

He understood Fjord, then.

_‘always’_

_‘let’s make it work’_

_\- once upon a time in Trostenwald, it’s been a long time now -_

     “He is good - no, he _is,_ Nott, he is,” Caleb murmurs and lets himself relax. It’s just Nott. It is all right. “He might act rash sometimes, but he’s making these enormous choices and he’s terrified of making those choices and what they mean to him and to him specifically and then to _us,_ because we are here now, too. I know that that is like. And how badly it could end up.”

Nott bites her claw. “So... like, kindred spirits?”

     “Perhaps not as romantically as that, but... but _ja,_ sure, kindred spirits.”

That is a half-truth. He’s good at those.  

Caleb knows full well what it means and how badly he wants, no matter how much he knows it is not going to happen. Compared to that, the blood pact is trivial and meaningless.

Nott buries her face into his back, snuggles closer and murmurs: “Okay.”

+

For all the half-truths and side-stepping questions, Caleb is very bad at keeping his bleeding heart out of sight.

+

He falls asleep, and eventually everything that has happened seeps into his dreamworld.

+

First thing Caleb becomes aware of is the red hot glow of fire on his family’s front yard.

He can feel it burning his retinas, the crackle, the heat, the smoke _the smoke -_

He stands in front of the burning wreck of his home, paralyzed, numb.

Someone stands in front of him.

Skinny, gangly Caleb Widogast, seventeen and breaking, horror naked on his face.

Just as paralyzed as he is now, sixteen years later.

But then a figure sways from the burning house.

It’s his mother again, blood soaked and empty-eyed and smiling that unholy, hungry smile, _oh littlest love, we loved you even though we burned, to our last breath -_

Her face changes, then it’s Astrid, Eodwulf, his father, Ikithon, a bloated monster that reaches forward and tears him to shreds and he can still _hear the sobbing in the ruins -_

He falls, falls into dark waves. Pressure crushes his lungs flat against his ribcage, he can’t see sunlight above the waves, it’s just a pitch black abyss of water -

\- but then he can see an enormous yellow, slitted eye.

The size of it terrifies him, it defies his understanding of very physics of the world, he can’t understand how old it is, he can’t understand any of it -

_we loved you, to our last breath, oh, our son, how proud we were -_

Then it’s noise, noise, noise, _it’s ’CALEB - ? CALEB, EASY - CALM DOWN, CALM DOWN, I’M COMING’_ again, rattling in his ears, he can hear it -

_I see you, little wizard._

+

Caleb screams.

+

The Lavish Chateau has heard many types of noises during it’s time in Nicodranas. Groans, moans, giggles, howls -

\- but this is the first time someone has screamed in utter seizing terror.

+

The Mighty Nein knows instantly who it is.

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I made justice to Fjord's reaction. Emotions are hard.  
> Thank you for your continued support, you guys have been so kind to me, I appreciate every one of you so much <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where some things are talked about.

Caleb has been scared before. He has been terrified before.

But this... _this_ is something else.

Now blind, brutal horror grips him by the spine, flooding his every sense, and he’s plunged to darkness, he’s falling and falling and death would be merciful in comparison of that eye’s _attention -_ it sees, it knows everything and it hisses memories of smoke and fire, _and it sees him - !_

_\- death is too kind for you, little wizard -_

It doesn’t quite speak like mortal beings do, it’s gargled and not in a language that is from this world, but Caleb can just _know_ what it means -

_Die. Fail._

(he’s screaming. he can’t hear it, but the muscles in his throat ache and bleed, but he still screams)

The door of their room slams open and suddenly the mattress dips under weight. “Caleb - Caleb, easy, it’s me, it’s _me -_ you’re safe, it’s not here - !”

The noise stops.

Someone touches him. Someone familiar, solid and warm, and the instant their bare skin make contact, Caleb goes boneless with relief. He knows this person. It’s good, it’s safe.

He paws blindly up at Fjord’s shoulder, his fingers gripping the soft material of his undershirt. 

     “Fjord, _Fjord_ \- it was there - “

     “I know - “

     “It - it saw, it saw _everything_ under there - “ Caleb babbles, hoarse and choked, “ - it was there in the water, it _saw me,_ is it like that, is it that awful _\- “_

Above him, Fjord’s shoulders sag, and he lowers his head so that their foreheads are nearly touching. “I know, I _know,_ I’m so fuckin’ sorry you saw that,” he rasps, his voice guttural. “Caleb...”

     “I saw it,” Caleb repeats exhaling with great effort.

     “I know, s’okay now, you’re safe. It’s not here.”

Caleb forces himself to draw air, because his chest feels like it’s collapsing. “Fjord - I’m sorry,” he whispers. “That - that must have been absolutely terrifying when it happened to you.”

Fjord barks out a laugh that sound just a bit hysterical. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Caleb tries to steady his pounding heart, and opens his eyes to look at Fjord again. He’s tired, lethargy drags him more against the mattress, but it is easier to breathe with Fjord nearby.

     “You know?” he whispers. “You know what just happened?”

For a moment, Fjord bites his lip, then his head jerks into a small nod like he’s ashamed of it. Then he cards a strand of sweaty hair from Caleb’s forehead as if to distract himself.

     “I’ve got some idea, yeah. Freaked the hell out of me when I realized what it was,” he murmurs. “Heard you fucking _scream - “_

     “ _Ja,_ I - I am not a fan.”

Caleb feels strangely content in the dimly lit darkness; he’s lying languid, sleepy under the blankets, and Fjord presses gently his thumb against the soft underside of Caleb’s wrist with such absent-mindedness that Caleb isn’t sure Fjord even realizes he’s doing it.

And then...it all starts to unravel.

     “ _Caleb?_ Are you okay?!”

Jester bursts into the room, Beau, Caduceus and Nott in tow, but stops in her tracks as she takes in the scene in front of her. It occurs to Caleb how it might to look to her; Fjord’s on his knees on the bed, barely few inches of space between them.

Hot acidic dread rises to Caleb throat, and the lazy warmth he’s felt rushes out instantly. His body is ice cold.

     “Jester - “ he breathes out weakly and withdraws from Fjord at once.

Jester doesn’t move. Her expression doesn’t waver, but her mouth parts in surprise and then tightens just a bit around the corners. Then she smiles, and Caleb can’t think clearly.

     “Wow, you got here reeaally fast, Fjord,” she says, but her smile rings hollow.

Nott squints and peers over at them over her glass of water that she’s obviously been fetching.

     “Too fast,” she grumbles and taps her claw against the glass.

Fjord clears his throat, and the light from the outside makes his irises glint pale golden like a cat’s.

     “...yeah, guess so,” he replies, frowning.

     “Oh,” Jester says, and it’s such a tiny sound.

She still attempts to smile, and it looks like it’s painful, and Caleb feels like the worst person in the world. He pushes himself up with his elbows and tries to explain: “I - I had a nightmare - “

     “ - yeah, heard him scream,“ Fjord adds.  

Beau scowls. “Everyone fucking heard him scream,” she says wryly, but she examines Caleb. “You okay, man?”

_No._

Everything - everything is getting worse again.

_How do I keep fucking things up?_

His mouth dry, Caleb stammers: “I - _ja,_ I’m okay.” His gaze drifts back to Jester who still hasn’t moved. “Jester?” She says nothing. Her expression is completely smooth, like carved marble. “Jester, I am sorry, I - “

That seems to shake her awake.

     “Why are you sorry?” she says with a laugh that is two notes away from breaking. “That’s so silly, you shouldn’t be sorry, Caleb.” 

But he is. He is sorry, with every fiber of his being. He’s so fucking sorry about _everything._ About his feelings, his mistakes, everything. No matter what he tries, he ends up hurting _someone,_ over and over again.

Longing, love and regret and guilt tear him apart, burn holes in his stomach, and he doesn’t - it’s not worth it.

_(you’re not, remember)_

_(just run)_

He has no energy to handle this, he has no capacity left in his worn-down body to respond to this. He has no idea how, anymore.

     “Caleb?” Fjord sounds worried. “Gettin’ kinda quiet there, buddy, what’re you thinking?”

Caleb’s head aches. “I - I am not - “ _Talk. Spit it out._ Words are hard. They clutch in the base of his throat, and he has no idea how to properly explain what he’s feeling.

_Talk, dammit._

     “S’okay, no rush,” Fjord says, still tracking Caleb, worried.

     “Nightmares, then?” Caduceus’s deep voice asks gently behind Beau.

Mutely, Caleb nods. It’s not even a lie.

     “Ah,” says Caduceus, but his eyes flick over to Fjord. “Yeah, I get it. Those seem to be a reoccuring thing nowadays.”

Tensing, Fjord scowls. “’Duceus - “

     “No, no, I’m not accusing anything, I’m just making an observation, that’s all,” the firbolg replies easily.

Caleb can’t help but to glance at Fjord.

His profile is painted in the light that spills from the open door, and he’s so achingly _familiar_ in a strange, abstract sense that he can’t explain and witnessing it half-shrouded in the dark nearly steals Caleb’s breath away.

 _He’s here._ He came here, Caleb realizes now that the fuzziness of the nightmare has faded a bit. In that moment, he desperately wants to touch Fjord, just brush his fingers on Fjord’s skin and feel the storm and the sea that means Fjord in his mind.

His hands twitch in his lap.

But he does not touch.

Fjord is not for him. Fjord doesn’t even feel the -

_No. Enough._

Caleb stumbles up, still not looking anyone in the eye and as he’s passing Jester, he hesitates and pats her on the shoulder.

     “You do not have to worry about any of it, Jester,” he murmurs quietly. “I will - it’s going to be okay.”

Jester jumps. “W - wait, Caleb - “ she squeaks and makes a fumbling attempt to grab his arm. “No, no, what are you talking about? You’re talking about weird stuff, what is this?”

     “I never make sense,” Caleb hears himself answer. What is he even talking about? _Fix it._ He has to. After Astrid and Eodwulf, he at least owes it to the rest of the group.

     “You do, you _do,_ but I don’t get it,” she whimpers. “Don’t walk away.”

_Do not ask me that -_

_(fix it)_

     “How about we sit down and let me just make some tea?” Caduceus interjects so gently. “Just - take a breather, it’s been long few days.”

     “How ‘bout spicing it up with some shots, _that_ might do some fuckin’ good for everyone,” Beau grumbles, but is already reaching for Jester. Their fingers intertwine, and Jester grips back like a life line. “C’mon, let’s get downstairs. Think your Mom will let us use your kitchen?”

Some colour returns to Jester’s freckled cheeks. “...of course she does, sure, let’s go.” A pause. “...there are honeyed almonds, too. I know a super secret stash.”

     “Awesome. Show the way, Jess.”

On the way out, Fjord waits for Caleb and rumbles: “Hey. You doin’ okay?” He doesn’t quite touch Caleb, but he’s close.

_His warmth, soaking and seeping into him._

_The scent of sea salt, smoke, the leather. The sound of the ship’s sails fluttering in the wind._

_You have to focus._

Caleb rubs his forearm, plagued with self-conscious nerves. The nightmare still haunts the edges of his mind - the sheer weight of an ancient being’s unnatural gaze on him felt like needles under skin, but he’s awake now and feeling a little bit more like himself.

     “Uh... of course. I am. Do not worry, Fjord.”

Fjord’s eyes darken for a moment, turn half-lidded and heavy, considering. “...yeah, about that, no offense, Caleb, but I reckon it might be too late for that.”

Caleb doesn’t know what that means.

+

 _Wishing_ is different, after all.

+

The kitchen smells of chamomille and sweet lemon pastries. Beau lights a lamp and moves to help Caduceus by the stove. Nott rises on her tip-toes to look over to the counter and Caduceus lifts her to sit on the ledge so she can see better.

     “ - ook, I don’t wanna know who this is. Like, that’s some serious shit, but _damn_ , this smells pretty great,” Caleb hears Beau comment. “I don’t think people should smell so good in boiling water.”

     “They don’t,” Nott huffs sourly, “it’s really awful.”

     “That’s very interesting. This - well, these people were a part of a pretty wealthy family.”

     “Ever offer a drink for their - I dunno, their descendants or something? Might freak them out or shit like that. Like, your ol’ grandpa tastes really good as tea leaves, just sayin’.”

It’s all strangely domestic, cozy.

_Home._

Caleb doesn’t shudder this time at the thought. He’s just... _tired._ Worn around the sharp edges. A lot has happened during in a very short time, and his mind doesn’t give him any time to breathe or adjust to the monumental changes.

Rain drums against the glass of the windows.

His head starts to ache again.

     “I think leaving might be prudent at the moment,” Caleb says quietly, but somehow his voice pierces through the comforting noise like gunfire. It feels like he’s tainting some shred of tranquillity of the situation, and he winces with guilt.

     “You mean leave Nicodranas?” Nott asks as if she’s considering it.

     “ _Ja._ I - they know now where we are. Or where I am. I - I think we should leave. Or that I probably should.”

     “Not without us, asshole,” Beau says instantly and shoves him a cup of tea. It smells like something crisp, almost like ginger. “Drink this and stop suggesting stupid shit.” 

Caleb huffs a wry laugh. “ _Ja,_ okay, but... letting _that_ happen again, is an awful, awful idea. I’d rather avoid them, if we can.”

     “Tough, they can fuckin’ try. Gonna wipe the floor with them,” Beau continues to grumble and stirs her tea a bit too strongly.

     “But they belong with the Cerberus - and they know you now. All of you. They know I am with you and the - that you were willing to save me.” 

     “Always, yeah,” Fjord says reflexively, and Caleb gawks back, warm rosy colour blooming on his thin cheeks.

_Why does he keep saying it? How can he keep saying that?_

It sounds so _genuine,_ echoes and repeats in his head again and again.

     “I - that is _not_ what - “

     “No, shut up, we’re not gonna leave you so stop with your shit already, you’re gettin’ on my nerves, _Caleb,”_ Beau snaps and adds, irritated: “Drink your damn tea.”

Caleb sighs. Relief and frustration mix in his gut, then stilling the turmoil into an even tide. He takes a careful sip.

He can’t do a lot of things, but at least he can drink some tea.

+

Jester is silent, but she observes the scene.

+

They talk about travelling North, perhaps towards Trostenwald again, and the thought hangs in the air.

They don’t come to a real conclusion, but they finish drinking their tea and when Beau starts yawning, Caduceus herds them toward the stairs, and Fjord lingers by the doorway.

Caleb resists an urge to pull his sleeves back toward his knuckles. He still feels vulnerable and awkward, like rusty gears clinking and clacking in disharmony - he doesn’t know how to approach the subject of the blood pact, especially after revealing what he’s done to his own family.

Especially after Astrid and Eodwulf.

_(how can you?)_

_(how can he add even more to this?)_

How to break everything in even further, never mind what Fjord’s said?

The blood pact is... different.

And the dreams - _the nightmares -_

_\- it’s different -_

_(it’s so much. so much baggage, how many scars and wounds and agony can one relationship handle before they decide it’s too much?)_

Finally he has to speak up.

     “What?”

The crease on Fjord’s forehead smooths over, and he runs his hand over his chin as if weighing how to phrase his thoughts. “Nothing, nothing, just... I’ll just be next door. In case... in case something happens again.”

Caleb frowns, confused. He’s... he’s almost sure that’s not what Fjord intended to say, but he’ll take it.

     “...okay. Thank you for your concern, but I... I will be fine. Sleep tight, Fjord.”

Fjord doesn’t move. He furrows his brow, opens his mouth to probably argue, but then just sighs. Gives in.

     “Okay. Sweet dreams, Caleb. Comin’ up?”

     “ _Ja,_ I - I think I’ll have some water, first, but I’ll be up shortly.”

Fjord hesitates, his back tensing into a tight line. For a moment, Caleb can make out pure panic in him, flaring out like a white lightning, but then it disappears.

_It’s quiet._

Finally, with a defeated sigh, Fjord nods. “If you’re sure, yeah.” He bids Caleb good-night and after glancing at him one last time, he leaves.

Caleb exhales, buries his face into his hands. This day has felt so long, he feels decades older. _So old, thin and weather-worn._

Then he hears:  

     “Caleb?”

Caleb’s head snaps up.

Jester stands in front of him, wringing her hands in her nightgown’s frilly sleeves and the sight rips  a piercing pain through Caleb’s chest.

_No. Oh no._

_Fix it. Now._

_(fucking do something)_

_ANYTHING_

She shifts nervously. “Can I - can we talk? Please? I promise- _promise_ it won’t take long, but I really wanna talk to you. Is that okay?”

 _I’d give everything to you if it were mine to give,_ Caleb thinks, anguished _._

     “Of course,” he replies and is surprised to realize that she wants to sit next to him on the long bench where he’s seen the Chateau’s cook peel some potatoes. “Here?”

Jester makes a distracted hum, picks up a pastry from the nearby basket and hands it to him. The pastry leaves warm grease on his fingers, but he accepts it nonetheless.

     “Could you maybe answer a question?” Jester asks, running her fingertips on the table’s surface. It has many pale lines etched onto it - probably from cutting vegetables. “Like, it’s nothing suuuper crazy, but...um, could you? If I ask really, really nicely?”

     “You always ask nicely, Jester,” Caleb replies, his heart hammering against his ribs. “You do not have to worry about offending me.”

She hums again, and a wobbly smile appears on her lips again. “You’re silly,” she says fondly. “So, um - answer me this...and no lying, okay?”

Tension crawls into Caleb’s neck, but he holds himself still. _For her._

She takes a deep, shaky breath, curls her fingers on the table and asks with a quiet, small voice: “So, um... are you secretively in love with Fjord?”

Caleb thinks his whole world fractures.

His first instinct is to lie. Lie, lie, lie, tell a lie, bite your teeth together and lie, because it would be kinder in the long run than to inflict pain to Jester _now -_

To spare her heartbreak, any suffering, any grief, he’d be willing to shoulder his own till the day he’s set in his grave.

As if reading his thoughts, Jester says: “Don’t.” She shifts again and tries to smile, but it’s strained now. “Don’t lie to me, Caleb, okay? Please?”

Caleb’s mouth is full of dust. His lungs creak. He can barely remember how to form words.

How can he ever explain it? He _can’t._

It’s excruciating.

He’s two seconds away from destroying everything with his own hands, he’s going to tear everything from the very roots, and -

\- _and -_

They stare at each other.

     “Jester - please do not ask me that,” Caleb chokes, raspy. “ _Please.”_

Jester laughs, and now it’s just as strangled and wet. “Why?”

Caleb’s throat moves, feels like he’s been swallowing razor-blades. “Please. It - the answer will not make you happy.”

     “But it’ll make me hurt less,” Jester says, and her aura bleeds hot sourness and pain into the air. “I don’t know what’s going on. I - I think I see, but then I’m not sure and I - I don’t know what happened to you or how to help and every time you see me, you look like your heart is breaking and I don’t want you to hurt anymore so please, _please_ tell me so I can at least make it sorta okay...” 

Caleb’s torn. He’s trembling, stares at her in utter despair. He can’t do this, he _can’t_ look her in the eye and break her heart.

     “You really are in love with him, aren’t you?” Jester whispers. Caleb can’t say anything, he can’t deny it. He can just witness it, the devastation of his silence, his admittance and what it really means. “Oh, Caleb.”

 _He can’t deny it._ Not to her face, not when she’s looking at him. So instead of doing literally anything else, he just manages to say: “I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

     “Why?” she asks again and Caleb’s never thought anyone’s smile would cut him so deeply. “You can’t help it.”

This is too much. He has to look away. At the blue-painted tiles on the wall, at the shiny pots hanging above the stove, _anything_.

     “No, no, I - I am not going to do anything,” he replies. “Getting between you two is absolutely out of the question.”

Jester’s hands still. “What do you mean?”

     “Between you and - and Fjord?”

Jester giggles, but it’s just a shadow from her usual joyful laughter. The notes are wrong, cracking.

     “We’re not together, silly.”

     “Maybe not right now, but you - I will _not_ step between that or - trample all over your heart, I refuse.”

     “Aw, Caleb, that’s so sweet,” she says softly. “But I think it’s not up to you. I mean, not really ‘cause he - um, he’s kinda not subtle? What you two did at the altar...it really did something, right? Something shifted?”

Caleb remembers the cold horror rising to his throat when he caught a glimpse of Jester’s disappointment after that.

     “I - I have not discussed it with him yet,” he murmurs and shakes his head. “But never mind that - Jester, it does not matter, it is _trivial - “_

     “It’s not! We’re not together, dummy! Sure, I mean, he’s _reeally_ handsome and he did kinda technically kiss me, but... a lot happened. And I kinda felt...weird? And... and then really unsure. And then sad. ‘Cause he was something else and I...um probably read too much and then felt stupid for thinking that? It was flirting and fun and safe and... I don’t know. I’m really sorry, Caleb,” she finally says weakly, her head hanging low.

Caleb nearly has a heart attack. “You - no, don’t you dare, you have _nothing_ to apologize for, Jester.”

     “You don’t either!”

     “Yes, I _do - “_

     “Well, did you _mean_ to fall in love with him?”

Caleb has no answer to that.

Jester’s expression turns a little smug. “See?”

     “...no, I do _not.”_

Jester drops her head on his shoulder, burrowing closer. Her hair’s still tousled by sleep, curly and in adorable disarray. After a beat of debating whether or not he should, he presses his cheek against the crown of her head. He’s selfishly, horrifyingly relieved she still wants to be near him.

     “How... how did you know?” he murmurs quietly.

She hums again and twirls her ribbon around her finger absent-mindedly.

     “You kept looking at him. I mean, a _lot._ You’re really not subtle either, you know?” She lets out a tired giggle. “And sure, he is handsome, but you... you kept looking at him. Way deeper. In - in a way we couldn’t understand. And then he was there and he looked back, and somehow you didn’t need to talk at all. Like a ‘ _click’,_ you got it without a mess or misunderstandings _.”_

She even clicks her tongue to emphasize that.

A _click._

Caleb’s pulse thunders in his ears. He feels terribly naked, stripped open. He distracts himself by tugging his bandages again - one of the gauzes is frayed. He needs to switch those.

     “It _was_ messy,” he murmurs.

     “Oh, it was?”

     “Mmh-hmm.”

     “You fell in _looove.”_

Caleb doesn’t nod, but he says very quietly: “He’s... he’s something.” _Everything._ “I want him to be happy. I - I understand his struggles and I - I want to help him. In any way I can. Not to end up like me.”

Jester wrinkles her nose and adjusts her head so she can peer up at him. “But you’re so cool, Caleb. With your maaagic and your cat and your fancy books - ”

     “That is very - very sweet of you, Jester, but I am not,” Caleb says, heaviness pulling him toward the floor like a sack of stones. “I appreciate you, so very much, and I’m... I’m sorry.”

     “It’s so silly, you to be. It’s okay,” she coos and smiles, even though her eyes are wet. He remembers that about her; her ability to smile through tears, smile like there’s still kindness in this filthy world of theirs. “Do you hear me? It’s okay. No one’s made any promises. No commitments. Nothing.”

     “It does not mean I will do anything. I will _not._ He might not - he does not feel the same - it would not end well.”

     “You don’t know. Or - oh! Are you suddenly a seer that we somehow missed? That’d be so _cool,_ Caleb!”  

     “No - _what?_ I am not - why are you doing this? Why are you pushing me toward - ?”

     “Because you’re being so _stupid_ about it! I’m telling you to go for it! Go, tell him, smooch him, sit on his dick!” Jester grins, all her fangs flashing white. “You have the right to be happy, too, you know.”

     “Yes, well, that is - debatable, but I do not want to be at the expense of yours.”

Jester pulls back, her eyes wide, surprised.

     “Oh,” she says very softly and with great difficulty, she swallows. “I - I think it’s less what you think? Maybe? I mean, it was, it _could’ve_ been, maybe, but I’m - I think I want to learn to be _‘me’_ first.”

She runs her thumb on the back of her hand. “I - it’s been a lot, Caleb. So _much._ The Shepherds, and - and Molly and then the Gentleman who is suddenly my _Dad,_ and pirates and the library - I want to be _me_ first. Does that - does that make any sense at all?”

The notes in her voice are on the brink of shattering.

     “It does,” Caleb chokes, distressed. “It does. You, Jester... you are an amazing woman, and I would gladly die for you.”

Jester laughs, and it’s more like a startled sob.

     “Aw, no, you shouldn’t. I’d really, really hate it if you did.” She pulls him close, presses her head under his chin and just _holds_ him. He can feel a tremor rattling through her spine, the jerky way her chest rises. “Promise me you don’t run away from this?”  

He presses his lips absently into her hair. “... _ja._ Promise.”

     “Good. Okay. And - and one day - it doesn’t have to be _now,_ but - will you tell me what happened between you and that guy? Eodwulf?”

Caleb falters. There are many things he could do. He could grit his teeth together and lie to her, once again, lie until there’s nothing else left but that, but she - she is the best of all of them.

And he _can’t._ Not to her.

But he will hold to that silence, just a bit more.

     “... _ja._ One day.”  

She seems to be satisfied with that and relaxes against him. “Hookay. Good.”

_Good._

She doesn’t let him go, just yet.

He’s selfish that way.

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I'M SO SORRY, I know I keep changing the damn chapter count, but this time I think it's final. I HOPE. AND I KNOW you've been waiting for Widofjord and I feel so awful for bringing all this extra dialogue in and kinda stringing you along and teasing you. BUT I WILL MAKE IT HAPPEN.  
> Seriously, this fic just kept expanding. And expanding. It was supposed to be _simple_. But then apparently I got hit by Mighty Nein feels and everyone being supportive of Caleb and being done with his refusal of admitting FEELINGS. DAMMIT.  
> Anyway, I'm so thankful of your support and your patience, it means a lot to me. Thank you for reading.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord & Caleb have a talk of many things.

They leave Nicodranas.

Marion hovers by the doorstep, her hands clenched by her sides, nervous and debating and on edge - and Jester smiles.

_That’s_ when Marion tears herself out of the Chateau and embraces Jester, burying her hands into Jester’s hair and kissing her forehead and her cheeks.

(Mother’s love is a beautiful thing, and Caleb feels guilty for tearing Jester away from hers.)

After they pack the cart, after looking one last time the clear blue sea, the seagulls soaring above the white foaming waves, the bustling port. All the white spires, red-tiled rooftops, the rosy glimmer of glass windows.

_It really is a stunning sight._

They leave Nicodranas.

Caleb huddles in the cart and wraps his arms again in clean gauze, tugs and ties and tries not to look at the pale scars carved on his skin. _Jagged and ugly._ He tugs the gauze tighter with a pursed mouth. Away from sight. Healed, but all wrong.

( _still hums, under his skin.)_

Stop it. Away from sight.

The cart wobbles ahead on the muddy road.

It’s almost nostalgic, after the sea.

The biting cold numbing the fingertips, the smell of soil and wet grass. The sound of wind rustling through the leaves, the wood of the cart creaking under them.

It’s easy, in it’s familiarity.

Nott takes out few trinkets from her robes and running her thumb across the worn surface, a glassy, thoughtful sheen appearing in her eyes.  

Jester’s pulled out her sketchbook. Beau and Caduceus are engrossed with a conversation that - to Caleb’s understanding - is apparently about different kinds of beetles.

Fjord’s sitting up front.

Caleb tries not to look.

(he’s not very good at that.)

_Scheiße,_ he really is quite hopeless at this. 

+

First night under the stars is harrowing.  

Terror and uneasiness crawl on Caleb’s skin, into his neck. Sleeping is quite probably the last thing he wants to do - he remembers the eye, the _age_ of it. It’s attention, how _hungry_ it was.

How it stared at him, saw through everything mortal and weak and _him,_ and -

( _no, please - do not make me return there - )_

He knows it’s selfish to wish such a thing, since it’s _Fjord_ who endures it’s attention on a semi-regular basis and still appears to be sane. How could Caleb complain compared to that?

_Die. Fail. Wizard._

Caleb swallows his rising anxiety, shifts near the camp fire and rubs his hands together just to do something. Forget. Think of anything else. That is doomed path to think, he should have known. 

As he sits there, the entirety of everything that has happened slams into him with full brutal force.

Astrid. Eodwulf. _Mother._ Everyone finding out, then the dream, Uk’otoa -

Thinking about it all leaves him still drained, exhausted. That really happened, everything’s felt jagged and painful and they were not slotting together at all, but somehow, _somehow,_ everyone is still here. And Caleb is still here, despite everything.

And nothing has _changed._

It stuns him.

(it both frightens him and fills him with relief)

They are - _a bunch of lunatics, surely..._ But apparently, he’s part of their band of lunatics, too, so Caleb has no counter-argument to that, not anymore.

+

The sky’s burning red colour has faded into black as they settle in Caleb’s dimly lit dome.

Nott announces very pointedly that she’ll be taking the first watch, thank you very much, since _‘you people are blind, no way we won’t be killed before the dawn’,_ and no one really argues with her logic.

Meanwhile that is happening, Caleb discovers something else.

Somehow, _somehow_ Caleb’s bed roll has ended up next to Fjord’s.

He frowns at the rolls, a little suspicious, but in the end, he’s too tired to give a shit about proximity, to be honest.

After unceremoniously falling on the bed roll, he passes out.

+

It’s dark.

Dark, wet, and sharp buzzing sound fills his ears again, a remnant of the voice that could barely be understood by mortal ears.

The sound fades, starts, increases until it sounds like crying.  

_No, no, no._

He sees a flash, a distorted image of Astrid, Mother, Eodwulf, _everyone_ again. Ghosts flicker in front of him, fading and dead and hollow - Caleb’s frozen, ice cold water rushing into his mouth, into his lungs, paralyzing him, again and again and _again._  

_No. Do not do this._

_(you should know this already. why are you surprised?)_

_Wizard._

Panic rises like a tidal wave, crushing his bones inside out, floods him - until something brushes his hand. He jolts, startled, whips his head - but sees nothing. Just darkness, suffocating and _damp._

Then, something squeezes his hand, a solid weight. Callouses pressing on Caleb’s palm, a thumb brushing on his knuckles. Caleb stills.

_‘fjord...?’_

   ‘ _caleb.’_

The tone, the deep rumble, but the accent is not as familiar as the voice - it’s lilting, polished around the usual wide drawl, yet he wears this one almost as comfortably.

Caleb doesn’t understand it - none of it makes sense, the coldness or the ancient abyss underwater around them, but _this..._ this is real.

   _‘are you - are you asleep?’_

There’s a beat, and the presence bleeds thoughtfulness, consideration around him.

_‘i think so. yeah. hey. it’s okay. it’s not here.’_

Caleb wants to snort, because it feels furthest away from okay, to be honest. He doesn’t understand _this._ It’s strange and quite frightening in it’s alien-like aura, and he doesn’t like not knowing. He feels uneven, off-balance somehow, like he’s teetering just above a minefield.

 But really, his own emotions be damned, there has to be consequences, as far as he understands.

There has to be a price, and...blood holds quite different kind of magic after all.

But this...

The presence doesn’t touch him like in the physical world would allow, but the heavy, comforting sensation presses against Caleb’s back, and he relaxes.

_‘you are really here?’_

_‘yeah. i’ve got you, caleb. breathe, can you do that?’_

The dark waves above them clear for a moment; golden sunlight filters through, and the darkness fades into rich crystal blue. The sound of seagulls. The creak of the ship deck under their legs, once.

And then he can hear it.

_thump-thump-thump-thump_

A strong, honest heartbeat, vibrating and echoing through this strange dreamworld, singing in his head. And he realizes that it’s _Fjord’s._ Caleb is stunned - he has never given any further thought to such a function, but now... _now_ somehow it feels almost too intimate to hear it like this.

He flushes - or at least he thinks he does, cold and hot and _soft,_ loose in the reins, loose in his skin, floating pleasantly, but it occurs to him with a delay that now, _now_ he - he can’t retreat behind any walls here.

He stiffens.

And he fucks it up.

_Of course he does._

The water is clear and peaceful, but when Fjord’s voice echoes again, Caleb hears a note of someone else in there. Sweet, full of sharp consonants, drawled words, and he tenses, surprised.

_Jester - ?_

It’s a downhill from there. He’s not sure if _he_ triggers it or Fjord does, but somehow images flicker ahead and voices -

_‘What do you need of me?’_

_‘Are you gonna stop talking like him?’_

An eerie, ghost-like image of someone and a name ringing around it, _Vandren, Vandren -_

Caleb freezes. _Wait, does that mean - ?_

Warmth disappears instantly, the recoil snaps back like a whiplash, and this time, the horror and panic that billows into Caleb isn’t his.

It’s _Fjord’s._

Fjord panics.

The water is pitch-black, sticking to Caleb’s skin like tar, changing into a heavy and sickly anchor, and it drags him toward to the bottom of the sea, pressure crushes his chest, now he’s _panicking,_ clawing at his throat -

He jolts awake, gasping. His lungs are burning, he tastes salt on his tongue, he _can’t breathe -_

Caleb stumbles on his feet, his knees knocking together, and he staggers out of the dome.

     “Wait! _Caleb!”_

     “What’s going on?” _Nott._ Nott sounds alarmed, shrill.

Caleb catches Fjord explain something about a nightmare, but at that moment, he’s reeling, he isn’t sure what is going on and his own body wars and struggles against sudden rush of violent anxiety that he can’t logically explain to himself.

_(well, it does not belong to you, right?)_

He manages to get ten feet away from the dome, still heaving dry, painful gasps and rubbing his chest. It hurts. _Perhaps drowning does feel like this, then,_ he wonders idly and grimaces.

Meanwhile Fjord’s caught up with him; his hair’s a mess, his white undershirt’s half-tucked loose in his pants, and he looks... _wild._ Unravelled.

When he realizes Caleb has stopped running, his eyes widen in surprise and he closes his mouth nervously as if uncertain how to proceed now that he’s caught up.

     “I - Caleb, I’m sorry, that - that was fucked up and you - “ he starts, but Caleb shakes his head.

     “How do you feel about me?” His voice hitches, fractures ever-so-slightly. “Do you hate me? Because that is what you _should_ do. You absolutely should. I am not good, no better than Eodwulf, than any of them - “

Fjord gapes. “Caleb - wait, _what?”_

Caleb doesn’t listen. Tremors start from his spine and up in his hands, numbing the fingertips. They are back where they started, why can’t he just not fuck things up? This whole mess started in Dashilla’s lair, because he just couldn’t resist it.

     “We _did_ that, we did a blood pact,” he manages to get out. “I forced your hand into it, I manipulated you into it and look what happened - “

Fjord scowls now, the crescent moon casting pale light across the hard edges of his features.

     “My apologies, Caleb, but that’s bullshit. You didn’t do a damn thing, I knew what I was doing, I _knew,_ okay, if anything I should ask for your forgiveness.” The shadows ease, and he shifts his weight to another leg, awkwardly. “I knew you found the altar interesting, I still goaded you into trying that shit with me.”  

Caleb waves his hand. “Debatable. I asked you a favour, it was a deal.”

     “Fuck, okay - Caleb, I was the one who asked, I wasn’t _forced,”_ Fjord says, crossing his arms over his chest, and Caleb wants to _scream._

This is a lot, they are doing this now, consequences be damned even though it is why they are in this mess in the first place.

     “I - “ Caleb bites his lip, his breathing changing into a ragged rhythm. “You’re tied to me now. I overlooked it, what it meant, now nothing is private and you’re _tied_ to me.”

     “Yeah, and?” Fjord says, and his face turns gentle, real, and it hurts to look at.

Caleb understands none of it. “You are tied to _me,_ Fjord, for the rest of our lives _._ ” 

     “Yeah, I know, I was there.”

     “For the rest of our lives. I saw something you never meant for me to see and that - you cannot be all right with this.”

Fjord’s few feet away from him, but he towers over Caleb, his breathing frosting in the darkness.

     “I’m not regretting a damn thing, Caleb. Not the altar. Not the deal. _Nothing._ Sure, it’s less than convenient, but I don’t regret it. _”_

Caleb’s mind struggles to find a loop-hole, an excuse why Fjord might be saying this, anything else than this, because he just doesn’t _understand._

     “Forever, Fjord, as long as we are _alive,_ and you said _always_ to me - “

     “And it wasn’t an empty promise, all right, I meant it,” Fjord says, and now his voice deepens a growl, and it’s a promise. Caleb doesn’t doubt it, and he can just stare at him helplessly. Fjord swallows, shifts again as if he’s got trouble breathing and he just looks _desperate._ “Caleb, I mean it, you _have_ me. You didn’t even have to ask me that, it was - it would’ve been freely given. I would’ve done it in a heartbeat even without you asking to make a deal.”

Caleb stops breathing. “I - I don’t - “ He’s dizzy. His throat burns. “You are supposed to be clever, Fjord, why are you saying this?”

Fjord dares to step closer, the moon light now scatters a gorgeous kaleidoscope in his gaze.

     “You mean you don’t know?” he asks, ragged, watching Caleb carefully.

It takes few seconds.

Caleb has a hunch, but it must be wrong, he must’ve misunderstood. So he stares back, in utter despair.

     “You should not,” he whispers. “There are at least a hundred reasons why it is such a bad idea and we have covered most of them during these few days.”

     “I don’t know, we have made pretty shitty plans, sure, but this isn’t one of them.” Fjord’s chest jerks again, he inches forward, staring Caleb in the eyes, and he can see anguish reflected back at him. “Caleb,” he whispers, haggard, “I’d fucking die for you, how is that not obvious to you?”

The ground disappears under Caleb’s unsteady feet, and his lungs stop working.

_I’d fucking die for you._

Caleb has heard that phrase a lot these days, he’s _said it_ himself, but now, he hears it in it’s most raw, vulnerable way.

Fjord doesn’t care what Caleb thinks about it, he just wants Caleb to know that, and he’s being so painfully honest about it. There are no lies about it. It’s a promise, an _oath,_ and it both terrifies and stuns Caleb to his roots.

     “You - you do not have to - “ he stammers out, his mind speeding up again. “Fjord, you - you do know who you are talking to, yes?” 

Fond exasperation flashes quickly on Fjord’s face and he rubs his mouth. “No shit, yeah, I know. I know, with full fuckin’ understanding what’s going on. I’m not being coerced into this. I _know_ what I’m feeling and for who I’m feeling it for.”

     “And - you do not think it might be because of the - the - “ Caleb makes an awkward hand wave, “blood pact?”

     “Yeah, no, ‘cause it’s nothing new,” Fjord grunts. “I felt that way long before we even made it on the fuckin’ ship.”

Caleb gawks. _“I’m sorry?”_

Heat blossoms on Fjord’s cheeks, and he turns his head away, flustered. “Shit - uh, yep, that’s - that’s what... no, I’m gonna shut up now,” he says weakly, burying his face into his hands.

Silence.

Caleb’s brain kicks to the overdrive, his whole mind reeling from the axis. He hears everything Fjord’s said, but he can’t parse out what it means.

Logically it can’t be. It is impossible. It must be his own feelings reflected back at him, this _can’t_ be, because the world is not kind and Caleb Widogast doesn’t get gifts like this, he _doesn’t -_

( _he hears the sea and the deep, warm chuckle that means comfort and safety)_

     “I am not _good,_ Fjord,” he chokes out. “I’m broken, so terribly - that would not be fair to you, to sign up for all that baggage - no, listen, it is _not._ You deserve better than to be tied - “

Fjord’s head snaps back up, and he sets his jaw.

     “Yeah? It’s not about deserving, Caleb. I know I can’t fix it or - or suddenly take all your suffering away, although I’d love to do nothing more than that - but I _can’t._ But I sure as shit am gonna help you and be there for you and support you through all the other shit.”

Caleb stares at him, and hope flares in his empty chest cavity. _Hope hope hope._ It’s there, a fragile silly thing that he’s long ago tried to forget, but it’s there and Fjord’s determination, his fierce protective instincts bleed through into Caleb’s frantic consciousness.

_It’s real,_ he thinks, stunned. _He - he means it._

     “It just - it seems unfair to you,” he says hoarsely.

     “Yeah? Why?” Fjord asks, so very gently.

     “It _is,_ you do not get anything out of this.”

Fjord makes a wounded noise and after a beat of hesitation, he reaches to take Caleb’s head between his palms. Caleb allows it, and seeing that, Fjord brushes his thumb on his cheekbone.

_(so, so gentle)_

     “ _Caleb -_ no, that’s not - this ain’t a transaction. I care about _you. You.”_ Fjord stares at him fervently. _“_ You, the snarky, twitchy, so fucking brave squishy wizard who tries so fucking much and who has endured twice as that. You might not think much of yourself, but you are damn good, Caleb. I don’t even know what this - shit, okay, I just want you to know that there’s someone having your back. I _told_ you that, remember?”

Caleb does. It feels like a life time ago, and he grasps Fjord’s wrists and just _holds_ like he really is drowning.

     “And - you don’t have to answer, s’just - yeah, okay - “ Fjord trails off, unsure and a little embarrassed, but he refuses to look away now.

Caleb tried to struggle against his feelings. He tried so much, he tried to give Jester a chance, he gritted his teeth together and tried everything in his power to evade all of this tangled mess, but... _but now it’s over._

     “You care about me?” comes out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

Fjord nods vehemently. “Yeah,” he murmurs back. “I really do.”

     “I - “ Caleb trails off, closes his eyes. “You were supposed to be clever.”

     “Excuse you, I still fuckin’ am.”

Caleb snorts out a laugh, which may sound just a little hysterical, a little breathless. “ _Ja,_ I suppose.”

He sighs and drops his forehead against Fjord’s. It feels easy, like a natural progression, but a very small part of him is still terrified that Fjord will flinch away in disgust.

Fjord just hums and nudges him with his nose.

It’s simple, _it’s casual intimacy._

    “I’m sorry for freaking the hell out in there,” Fjord says quietly. “I didn’t - it wasn’t - “

     “You don’t have to tell me now, Fjord. It is all right.”

     “Fuck I don’t.” He takes a deep breath. “When we - after the whole thing at the altar, I - I kept seein’ dreams. But they weren’t really like dreams, but... visions, I guess.”

     “How did you know?”

     “They were clearer and more like with - y’know. _That._ Thought nothing of it at first. But when they kept repeating... I sensed you there. An’ I know it sounds bat-shit crazy, but it felt like you were there with me. Heard your voice. Could _feel_ your breathe. Like we were sharin’ the same space. You know what I’m saying?” he asks, anxiously glancing at Caleb.  

Caleb does know, and it sends shivers on his skin.

     “... _ja,_ I get it. It seems to work in both directions.” He stifles his urge to run his fingers through Fjord’s hair. He pauses. “...that is not your real accent, is it?”

Fjord clears his throat. “No. But it... it’s what I’m used to now. He - _Vandren -_ talked like that. Y’know, all draa- _awl_ ‘round the Menagerie Coast ‘n ship decks,” he exaggarates his accent, until it sounds wide and honeyed around the vowels.

Fjord shakes his head. “Guess it was less like hidin’ and more like... paying respects.” He gives a weak laugh. “Seems kinda silly, now that I think about it.”

     “It matters to you so of course it isn’t silly,” Caleb says and dares to brush his fingertips on Fjord’s temple, marvelling how the undercut feels against the touch. “I’m sorry for your loss, Fjord.”

     “Yeah, well... it sucks, but... I want to find him, if I can. At some point.”

His whole frame trembles with a deep sigh that seems to wrench itself from his very core as if he’s finally surrending his burden to rest, and he nearly slumps limply against Caleb.

     “...thank you,” he murmurs, his voice rough, just few inches away from Caleb’s mouth.

     “I did not do anything.”  

     “ _Caleb.”_  

There’s an air of fond reprimand trickling through again, and it makes Caleb smile. “If you insist,” he says back quietly, “you are welcome.” His head swims from all of this; things are stripped open between them, and it’s almost _dizzying._ “And... Fjord?”

     “Yeah?”

     “I - care very deeply about you, too.”

To Caleb’s ears it sounds inconsequential, trivial, too little to describe what he really feels, swelling inside him, rose-red and sweet, but the way Fjord’s face lights up is more than worth it.

     “You do?”

It shoots embers under Caleb’s skin, all mellow and quiet thrumming under the surface, and he realizes that it’s _happiness._ From _Fjord._

He smiles, stupidly bashful, amused and bows his head. 

     “Of course. You are very charming, after all.”

     “Yeah, I - uh, I gotta disagree with that. I think you saw with Avantika just how fuckin’ uncharming I am, shit got real and things, uh, exploded. But uh - hey,” he says, blinking owlishly at Caleb and smiles faintly. 

     “ _Hallo.”_

     “Now you know,” Fjord says peering at Caleb under his eyebrows. “I - don’t have anything else left to hide.”

     “Thank you...for trusting me.” Caleb can barely hear it, but he can make out the broken hitch in Fjord’s breathing, and he gravitates toward Caleb, tracking him with his gaze, turning his body toward him.

_This man. This infuriating, clever, impossible person... whose happiness means everything to Caleb._

He falters forward, just an inch, but Fjord catches it and stilling, he _waits_ for Caleb.

     “It’s okay,” Fjord murmurs, the words scratching his throat.  

Caleb closes the distance between them and kisses Fjord.

Every wall he’s put up has crumbled to dust, there is absolutely no pretending otherwise anymore.

He’s naked under all that, his fragile bones and his bleeding heart opening to Fjord.

The kiss is just a slow brush of lips until Caleb dares to tilt his head tentatively and opens his mouth under the sweet, chaste pressure. Apparently it’s the right decision because Fjord makes a low growl against his mouth and reaches for him, grips Caleb’s shirt around the waist to pull him closer. 

Liquid fire sparks to Caleb’s veins, stirring awake in his belly.

He entwines his fingers on the back of Fjord’s neck and clutches him as close as he can.

Under the touch, he can feel Fjord’s chest convulse as if struck by thunder, all air pours out in a shaky exhale and then, he pulls back, just an inch to look at Caleb.

Fjord’s amber eyes are dark, hooded with heat, he gazes at Caleb and leans back in, but only this time he’s brushing their noses together in an affectionate gesture as if to ask permission... and _he is,_ Caleb realizes.

_is it okay, can i do this, are you okay_

He can almost hear it. It seeps from the corners, a slow sun-warm hum, not with words, but with... _with him._

And Caleb realizes rather dumbly that the answer to that is _yes._

_Of course it is yes. It’s absolutely yes, and that is the truth._

He wants. It is such an alien feeling. He wants despite his protests, despite his guilt and anxiety, memories and _fjord deserves better -_

_They’re here._

His body flushes in white-hot and cold waves, every nerve in him sings in pure joy that he barely remembers how to experience - it’s such a visceral desire clawing at his stomach, the very shreds of himself.

     “Please...”

Almost instantly Fjord’s mouth crushes against Caleb’s.

It’s hot, it’s _desperate,_ it’s starving for more, like they are both hungry for everything the other is willing to give them. Caleb kisses back just as desperately and clings onto him.  Fjord tastes like he smells; of the sea salt. Sunlight on the white foam. _Him him him._

The angle is a bit awkward; their tongues slide sloppily, their noses smush together and he can feel Fjord’s tusks pressing against his lip.

All of it makes something shift in Caleb’s mind. It’s _familiar_ in a way he can’t explain. It’s imperfect, it’s _messy,_ but oh gods above, Caleb doesn’t want it in any other way.

Fjord finally pulls back, but just an inch as if he can’t bear the separation and nuzzles Caleb’s cheekbone with his nose.

     “Caleb - “ oh, his voice is all low gravel, gritty consonants. He brushes his thumb on the corner of Caleb’s mouth, across his lips, so very gentle. “Caleb, hey, what’s wrong? Was that okay?”

_Yes._

It appears in his mind before he can even logically think of an answer. Just _yes._ It is okay. It is far from perfect, but it is _okay._   

Caleb’s mind is quiet _._ Washed clean. Not quite serene, not quite silent, but _still._ No ripples boiling under the anxiety, no whispers, no _hissing,_ just... _calm._ Like balm on ravaged wounds.

Caleb paws at Fjord’s bare skin, and he places his hand on Fjord’s neck, carding his fingers into his hair.

     “ _Ja,_ it - it’s okay.” He laughs weakly. “More than okay, more like.”

Relieved, Fjord chuckles and leans in to nose up to Caleb’s temple like it’s an indulgence. “Yeah?” he murmurs and presses a hot kiss on Caleb’s cheek and then down the column of his throat. Caleb shivers and angles his head sideways to give him a little more room.  

     “Mmh-hmm. You are incorrigible, aren’t you.”

    “Oh, that so? Okay, can’t say I’m sorry for that, either.” Fjord grins, all toothy and silly, and Caleb aches to see it. Perhaps Fjord senses it, because his expression grows serious. “And... Caleb? I meant it. I’m with you. Blood pact or no.”

Something huge swells under Caleb’s breastbone, something both inevitable and _lovely,_ and Caleb can’t fight against it. To be honest, he doesn’t want to. He wraps his arms around Fjord’s shoulders and lets his head drop on Fjord’s clavicle.

     “... _ja,_ okay.”

Fjord accepts it and presses his lips on the top of Caleb’s head.

It’s okay.

+

Of course, such things can hardly stay a secret in a group like theirs.

This proves to be correct once again in the next morning, when Caduceus says pleasantly: “So a blood pact, huh?”

Several things happen.

Caleb chokes on his tea.

Fjord nearly whittles his thumb off and curses.

It takes few stumbling attempts to get their explanation across - during which Beau pales ghostly white and then lets out a string of curses that would even make the Plank King blush. 

Then she _explodes._

Caleb’s thought he’s witnessed her angry before, but now she’s _furious._

     “ - at the fuck, you two are fucking dumbasses - no, don’t ‘ _ja’_ me, asshole, that’s severely fucked up. _Blood pacts._ What, do you need a babysitter? That’s not fucking handling shit, all fucked-up magic in Dashilla’s lair, what the _hell?!”_

Fjord and Caleb stand side by side, just taking her rage.

     “And what - is this like, don’t you know when not to fuck with shit like that? No! Apparently not! Gods above, this isn’t some cheap trick on the street - you probably altered each other like irreparably, what the _hell - “_

     “It doesn’t really work like that,” Caduceus interrupts calmly and hands Beau an apple. She throws a nasty glare at it, as if contemplating whether or not to crush it to mush, but reluctantly takes the fruit. “Nice, it’s a very good apple. Anyway, blood _is_ our life force, but it’s not really about controlling each other. Not like that. I mean, it’s about equality, right? Together or not at all. Which, I guess, means hurting each other may be hard now, I’m not sure, but are you going to get violent?”

He grins.

They gawk at him.

     “Um...no?” Fjord says and elbows Caleb lightly. “How about you?”

     “I do not think so - unless you do what you did at the beach, I might drown you, because I have not forgotten.”

     “Noted.”

     “How long have you been sittin’ on that?” Beau demands Caduceus, squinting suspiciously.

     “A while,” Caduceus says, shrugging. “I’ve had some time to piece it together. Wow, this really blew up, huh? Are you two okay now?”

Caleb clears his throat, uncomfortable. “Um, _ja,_ I’d - I’d think so, yes. When did you know?” he asks, rubbing his forearm.

     “A while ago,” Caduceus repeats pleasantly, and all right, Caleb sort of gets it. Not that it matters anymore when, it’s out, and it’s sort of a relief that they don’t have to hide it.

Beau stares at them, her cheeks puffed. Then, some sort of epiphany seems to hit her, because her jaw drops.

     “Oh no,” she squawks. “Have you two gotten your heads out of your asses? Is that what this is?”

They’re not quite sure how to respond to that, but they don’t need to, because Beau groans.

     “It’s gonna be a whole clusterfuck. There’s two of you reckless assholes and now you’re together, we’re all fucking neck-deep in shit.”

 Caleb thinks they should probably take offense to that.

 Fjord, who apparently isn’t paying attention to Beau’s rant, elbows him again. “You okay?”

     “Our secrets spilled out in less than two minutes after waking up? _Ja,_ just fantastic,” he says. “But I am not upset. You?”

     “No, I don’t think so. I mean, shit, maybe could’ve needed some subtlety, but guess this works.” Fjord shakes his head. “Fuckin’ clerics.”

     “Well, they can keep an eye on us if something goes wrong.”  

Fjord’s grin is a beautiful thing, slow and crooked.  “Hey, whoa, should I sleep one eye open?” he asks playfully, and adoration rushes into Caleb’s system like an expensive whiskey.

     “ _Nein,_ but I would rather be there, nonetheless, if I am being honest,” he answers and enjoys immensely the way Fjord’s eyes snap wide open and his throat works as he struggles to swallow.

     “That - uh, could be arranged,” Fjord stammers, his tone dropping into a deep rumble.

     “Oh, please, fucking stop it,” Beau huffs across the dome. “Stop the eye-fucking and come help with the damn breakfast. Least you can do,” she grumbles.

Caleb goes and starts to peel some carrots by her side.

     “Before you say anything - and I know you’re gonna start, _don’t,”_ Beau says, and Caleb tenses, suddenly unsure. “Are you okay?”

Caleb blinks, his knife pausing. “ _Ja..._ I am. I was not lying, that was the truth.”

     “You talked things through with Fjord, all that jazz? Hashed it out like fuckin’ adults? Hand me that potato. Thanks.”

     “...yes. It went... well.”

Beau’s shoulders relax, and she exhales through her nose. “Okay, good. And this... blood pact shit, anything else I should know about?” It sounds forced from her mouth, and he understands in a flash.

     “No, that - that is all. You know everything now. I am sorry,” Caleb murmurs. “For not telling you. I did not know how, but... I’m glad you know now.”

Beau doesn’t say anything to that, and for a moment, they just peel some vegetables for the stew. Then she speaks up:

     “I worry about you, okay, I get all fuckin’ rude and it’s not my place, not really... but I’m glad you’re okay. And now with Fjord, which... is something. Glad that worked out.”

     “I know, I agree.”

Beau wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and glances at him. “Are you happy? And no bullshit answer, Caleb.” She looks vulnerable, worried for a moment.

Caleb meets her eyes and thinks how much this little weird family means to him.

     “I am,” he says and means it. “I really am.”

She grins, sharp and insufferable. “Awesome. High-five.”

They high-five.

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so this story is basically 98 % done, and the last chapter is going to be a bit more leaning toward Mature/Explicit rating. Because I wanted to add smut here, but the chapter kept going long so I decided to add ONE MORE chapter and maybe focus on that better. Then it's done. Promise. 
> 
> Also thank you very much for being so lovely kind to me when I was kinda nervous in the last chapter? That was so sweet of you all and I love you. I'm very grateful! Thanks for reading! <3


	9. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are finally all right.

It rains.

At this point Caleb’s decided he hasn’t missed this. _At all._

Cold damp mist hangs around the little town of Evefield where they’ve agreed to meet.

Being on the ship was different - he remembers the nausea, his knees feeling like jelly, the terrifying vastness of the sea - but this, _this_ he did not miss, at all.

Wet socks, the broken muddy road, the constant chills digging into his skin.

     “This sucks,” Beau grumbles, shaking water from her robe. “Is that plague I smell? ‘Cause it smells like a fuckin’ plague. Great pick, Fjord.”

     “Is it dead people?” Nott asks and glances at the yellow house windows suspiciously as if waiting to see corpses hanging over the sills.  

     “Let’s find the tavern,” Caduceus interrupts, and that is probably the best idea Caleb’s heard in hours. “That’s where Fjord said he would meet us, right?”

     “Yeah,” Beau sneers, “the Crooked Jaw.”

     “Ooh, that’s a name. Very descriptive, nice. You all right, Mr. Caleb?”

A part of Caleb wants to roll his eyes, because that is not the first time someone in the Nein has asked him that. In fact, it is the sixth time in a week. Most of him wants to hiss _‘no, is that what you want to hear’,_ because he has not been fine, not really, ever since Fjord left the group to do an escort job with a small mercenary band.

     “Aww, Caleeeeb,” Jester sing-songs and wraps her soft arms around his shoulders and presses her cheek on his coat. “You miss him, don’t you?”

Hot flush spreads on Caleb’s face, and clearing his throat awkwardly, he looks over her head toward the houses along the cobble-stoned street. He’s very obvious, _dammit._

     “It does not feel right,” he admits reluctantly and grimaces as he realizes just how silly it sounds.

It’d been the lesser evil - the coin has been tight, they’ve been hungry and the mercenary band appreciated Fjord’s abilities and appearances and hired him for a small job. After a long discussion with the Nein, Fjord reluctantly agreed.

(Caleb realizes he still keeps automatically searching for him.)

     “Yeah, I know,” she says sympathetically. “It really feels weird, right? Something’s missing and I don’t like it, but Caleb, he can really, really handle himself and they liked him!”

     “ _Ja,”_ Caleb says and it sounds weak. He does know that. Still, he’s annoyed with himself for being worried, that the separation stings like a fresh burn wound.

They really haven’t been apart as a whole, the Mighty Nein. Everybody expects it from Yasha, but   _Fjord_ not being there has ripped a hole in their group’s dynamics. Everything feels smaller, somehow unhinged now with the two of them are missing.

Or maybe it’s just Caleb.

Well, he can still sense Fjord, on the blurried edge of consciousness and dreams. The steady heartbeat, the rhythm of breath, the warm push-pull of the ocean that he associates with Fjord’s life force.

He’s too far to actually hear anything else beyond that, but Caleb allows himself to take comfort in sensing him, a warm presence at the end of his mind.

Jester slips her dry, warm hand into his and squeezes gently. Her grip is real and kind, and he finds it grounding.

     “Are you worried?” she asks softly.

     “Ah, a bit, perhaps? But not - not really. He is all right.”

Jester gasps in delight. “Ooooh, you _know?_ Is it the blood bond?”

The scarlet blush spreads up to Caleb’s ears, and he very much refuses to answer. He still finds it utterly incredible how the whole ‘blood pact’ has been taken in a stride - now they regard it with jokes and playful jabs at them.

This time it’s no exception.

Jester giggles. “You do! Oh, Caleb, that’s so romantic! You can hear his longing while you’re separated! There needs to be a field between you two! Ooh, is there one in here, we can drag you both there, and then you cross it and embrace all romantic and cuuuute - “

     “Jester, _no,_ please - “

At that moment Caleb wants nothing less than to wade through a wet, over-flooded wheat field, and he thinks rather wearily there’s no way Fjord would want to do such a thing, either.

Jester’s eyes twinkle. “What?”

     “It - I mean no offense, Jester, but that does not seem very practical in our situation,” he manages to say as they turn to the tavern’s front yard. They hear music, laughter and the clinks of glass through the windows.

     “Aww, really? Okay, maybe not, then. But we still could, you know? If you change your mind, it’d be like really cool and romantic. But maybe not.” She scrunches her nose. “Oooh, or maybe we can give you a big suite?”

Caleb chokes this time. “I - we - _no,_ thank you.”

He’s very much not thinking that. No, thank you, he’s _not._

 _(except he is._ he shivers.)

The bright flush rises to his hairline, and the sight of it seems to both please and amuse Jester.

     “Aw, look at you,” she coos. “You’re so cute. He’ll be happy to see you, Caleb!”

Feeling strangely shy, Caleb bows his head down. The rain drops drip from his hood. “ _Ja,_ I - I will be happy to see him, too,” he says quietly and decides not to look at Jester. Just in case. He’s very embarrassing that way.

They enter the tavern; it’s cozy inside, a delicious smell of garlic, hot oil and stew waft in from the bar’s side, and they’re greeted by an older dwarf woman. She scowls, eyeing suspiciously at their weapons and gear, but relaxes when she realizes they’re paying customers.

Especially with a person like Jester bouncing up to the desk.

     “Hellooo! We would like to rent two rooms - wait, no, three, _three,_ ‘cause he should be here _-_ oh! Excuse me, have you seen a half-orc here? Came in with a bunch mercenaries, probably? A reaally handsome, kinda brooding?”

The dwarf lady furrows her brow. “What - “ she starts, but Jester continues:

     “’Cause his soooooulmate is heeeere!”

Caleb nearly swallows his tongue _._ He’s utterly unprepared for the chaos that is Jester.

The dwarf lady gives him a very flat look which tells him just how impressed she’s with him and his presumed so-called ‘soulmate’.

     “I don’t know,” she says dryly, “but you’re welcome to look around if you see him. Now three rooms would be four gold, who is paying?”

 _Shit, the money._ The exact reason why they are in this mess the first place.

After some furious whispering and a rather weak attempt to haggle, they pay and peer into the bar.

Caleb looks around, tapping his fingers together a little nervously. Is Fjord here? If he struggles, if he pushes his focus to the limit, he can reach for that familiar thrumming energy that does feel somehow... _closer._

His pulse quickens.

     “C’mon, lover boy, does your weird blood pact radar ping or what?” Beau asks, nudging him with her elbow.

     “It does not work like that, Beauregard.”

     “The hell it doesn’t, you two are fuckin’ weird,” she grumbles, but angles her neck to peer behind some thugs. “Hey, can you move? Thanks - shit. Doesn’t look like they’ve arrived yet. You okay?”

     “ _Ja.”_

It comes out a little clipped, tense. Disappointment, no matter how predictable, still stings.

Beau snorts. “Fucking liar.”

     “I am _not._ I - would know if he’s - if something happened.”

It’s happened before, about three weeks ago. Just a small scuffle by the Amber Road.

Fighting, magic burning through the meadow, and suddenly it felt like bells going off in his head.

Jagged, red, _hot, painful_ sensation lanced and pierced through, it knocked him on his knees, breathless and nauseous and dry-heaving _and Fjord lying unmoving on the ground - !_

He remembers. Remembers Fjord’s physical pain bleeding into his own nervous system, but as a general rule, Caleb doesn’t give a damn about himself, nor did he care in that moment when he _panicked._

That was the moment when he scrambled to his feet and fought to get to Fjord with his fingers bleeding and gnashing furiously his teeth together, _just to get there, don’t you dare, Fjord -_

It still sometimes visits in his nightmares, because his brain is just so lovely that way.

But now it’s calm, steady roll of foaming waves.

_(breathing, alive, fjord’s heartbeat thump-thump-thump - further, but still familiar)_

So Caleb is not worried.

     “It’s getting kinda late,” Caduceus says as the tavern’s people slowly start leaving or retreating upstairs. “How about we follow suit? Might run into him in the morning?” 

     “Yeah, Fjord can totally wait. Or Jester, do you have any juice for one last message? No?”

Jester shakes her head. “Sorry, I don’t. I should’ve - “

     “ _Nein, nein,_ he will get here, eventually,” Caleb replies as calmly as he can. “It is all right. We can go. I - I still have some reading to do.”

     “’Course you do,” Beau says, but it’s good-natured. She pauses, biting her lip. “Hey, just askin’, you mind if I use - ?”

Without looking, Caleb snaps his fingers, and Frumpkin appears around Beau’s shoulders and with a purr, wraps his bushy tail around her as well.

     “Awesome, thanks, Cay,” Beau says, and Caleb is happy to see a pleased smile on her face. He’s happy he can do that for her.

     “ _Ach,_ it is fine. See you in the morning?”

     “You got it. Sweet dreams, man.”

+

Caleb, to his credit, does try to read.

He nods off in the middle of the seventh chapter, his eyelids droop shut, and his head lolls on the pillow. He manages to sleep for thirty-four minutes when a tentative rap at the door makes him jolt back awake.

Blinking sleepily and confused, Caleb forces himself up and go to the door, running a hand on his face.

     “Nott, do not tell me you forgot the key - “ he says wearily as he opens the door and realizes the person he’s looking at is twice as big as Nott.

He blinks, a little caught off guard.

The corridor is dimly lit, and there, soaked from the rain, his black-white striped hair glued against his forehead, Fjord grins at him, all crooked and amused.

Caleb’s chest gives a jump when his heart starts pounding again, and that private, _bare_ part in his mind exhales, shakes loose all the locks and chains, and relief floods his whole body.

     “ _Hallo,”_ he says with a small smile.

The fire-golden ardor in Fjord’s eyes soften, turns to honey.

     “Hey. Fancy meetin’ you here,” he rumbles and reaches to tug gently a strand of Caleb’s hair. His expression eases into a tender grin, and Caleb notes that the tips of his tusks are a bit more prominent now.

The vibrant thrum settles into a warm hum behind his ribs.

Caleb leans against his palm, the callouses pressing on his cheek, hot and rough.

He shivers. “The - the Crooked Jaw, really?”

     “Yeah, well, not my pick - no, it _wasn’t,_ don’t look at me like that - they said it’s got really good ale, but I dunno what the hell they’re talking about, it’s fuckin’ bad.”

    “Did you just arrive here, then?”

     “Yeah, I - “ Suddenly Fjord clicks his mouth shut and Caleb realizes that he’s _distracted._

Caleb raises an eyebrow back at him and before he can ask, Fjord’s hand twitches forward again and as if he’s unable to help himself, he says hoarsely: “You - fuck, you’re a goddamn sight to sore eyes.”

It pours out painfully honest, a shaky whisper that he’s only half-aware what he’s saying, and Caleb’s eyes widen.

Flustered, he looks away.

_(still new, still not used to it, all the rustiness clanking in his head.)_

_(strange but so, so amazing)_

Fjord’s gaze burns his skin, drinking him in, imprinting it all to his memory. He can feel the heat billowing into his limbs, making him almost drowsy. 

     “Well, probably more like a drenched rat, but _ja,_ a sight for sure,” he says, a little embarrassed and shivers again when Fjord runs the rough pad of his thumb across Caleb’s cheekbone. His hand settles on Caleb’s jaw, cradling his head so very gently. “Fjord...”

Fjord’s hesitation lasts about two seconds, and when Caleb realizes what he wants to do, he melts. He shifts, opens his arms just a fraction, and that’s all Fjord needs; he lets out a sound like breath has been ripped from his lungs and wraps his arms around Caleb’s waist, pulling him in a firm embrace.

Caleb can feel slight tremor going through Fjord’s shoulders as he grips Caleb’s waist like a lifeline.

     “Welcome back,” he murmurs, nuzzling the bare skin on the crook of Fjord’s shoulder. It’s still damp from the rain and smells of pinewood and leather.

     “Yeah, thanks,” Fjord grunts and kisses down from Caleb’s jaw to his throat, each kiss slow and savouring. Caleb closes his eyes with a hum and tilts his head to give Fjord more room. Fjord makes a pleased rumble and presses his mouth on the hot pulse point fluttering under Caleb’s skin.

Caleb’s missed him.  

( _gods help him, he has missed fjord so badly.)_

He winds his hands into Fjord’s hair, pulling him closer.

Moving with it, Fjord nudges Caleb’s nose with his own and closes his eyes. It’s intimate in it’s simplicity, just closeness, a shared breath, _inhale, exhale_.  

     “Are you all right...?” Caleb murmurs, letting his mind reach for Fjord’s. No black waves, no darkness welling under it. A clear flash of turquoise light.

Fjord nods, dropping his forehead against Caleb’s. “Yeah. Went without a hitch. But shit, am I glad to be back.”

He runs his large, hot hands down Caleb’s sides, his fingers finally splayed on his thin ribs as if keeping track each time Caleb’s chest rises. Fjord gazes at him, half-lidded. He’s _asking,_ Caleb realizes.

It’s one of those things he fiercely loves about Fjord. He _asks._

Caleb nods, and the tight-wired tension in Fjord settles. He nuzzles Caleb up to his temple again and closes the space between them.

Their lips meet in the middle, almost chaste.

Relishing the nearness with each other, connecting after a separation, it feels like the world gets stitched back together. Slowly, the kiss turns desperate; their tongues delve deeper, hungry for each other’s taste, eager to be as close as possible.

Kiss after kiss, they angle their heads to press closer, Caleb can taste the _longing,_ or maybe it’s his or Fjord’s or _theirs,_ mingling and becoming a real, heavy thing between them.

Kissing Fjord comes easier now - at first it was a learning process, awkward and mushed noses and breathless laughter, but now, there’s comfort in kissing a long-time partner.

Fjord breaks the kiss to drag in another uneven breath and leans to nip into the skin of Caleb’s neck. It sends fuzzy, electrical shock into Caleb’s whole body, causing him tremble.

_He never wants to stop._

     “ _Fuck,_ Caleb,” Fjord grunts out against Caleb’s red bitten mouth, his voice scrubbed low and rough.

     “You - you must be tired - “ Caleb tries to say, but his tongue is clumsy and weird, and god, the way Fjord’s gaze darkens with desire, affection.

     “No way. I - I mean, I don’t want to presume, Caleb. I’m just - “ Fjord clears his throat again and distracts himself by running his finger absently on the bite on Caleb’s neck. “M’happy just to be with you.” 

Because they haven’t gotten this far yet.

Being intimate on the road requires certain attempts at improvisation and creativity, more often doomed to fail - there’s not enough skin, no time, no privacy, no proper hygiene, constant possibility of danger looming over their shoulders.

_But now..._

     “Are you not tired - ?”

     “Nope,” Fjord murmurs it behind Caleb’s ear, his breathing hot against the kissed skin, and Caleb shivers again.

     “If you fall asleep in the middle - “

     “Hey, hey, _hey,_ not gonna happen.” Fjord huffs a playful growl into Caleb’s throat again and hauls Caleb up by the back of his legs and presses his back against the wall.

     “Very strong, _ja,”_ Caleb deadpans and runs his fingers gently through Fjord’s wet hair. “Let me down if it gets too much.”

Fjord’s irises soften. “Hey now, might get offended if you continue like that,” he grins and leans into kiss him. This one is more mellow and easy, more smile than anything else.

      “ _Ja,_ apologies. This is fine. I missed you,” Caleb murmurs and kisses him. This time the kiss turns open-mouthed and filthy, just desperate craving for each other. Fjord groans into Caleb’s mouth, adjusts him in his arms. Flat against the wall, Caleb curves his spine and his hips roll into Fjord’s, creating hot friction shooting up their spines.

Fjord makes another growl into Caleb’s lips.

     “ _Caleb - “_

     “Mmh - ?” 

     “ - missed you like fuckin’ crazy, felt you there, even across all that, heard your _voice_ \- wanted nothing more than to be back here - “

     “Oh, you did? That is nice.”

     “Caleb, you’re killin’ me here...”

Caleb intertwines his hands in Fjord’s nape. “I am sorry. I missed you,” he repeats softly, his fingers playing with the fine hairs on Fjord’s neck. The admission comes honest. “Very much. And I am... I am happy you are back.”

Fjord’s eyes darken, his throat twitches as he swallows. “Yeah?”

     “Of course.”

They rest their foreheads together, noses bumping affectionately. _Simple._ “Thank you,” Fjord says, and now, he sounds raw, haggard _._ It’s like a prayer, whispered in relief.

Fjord lifts his head, stares back desperately at Caleb and crushes their mouths together, frantic to touch.

Caleb accepts it all easy, his legs tightening around Fjord’s waist, his body rising against Fjord’s, his mouth ardently devouring back.  

     “Bed?” he whispers breathlessly.

     “Bed,” Fjord agrees, his voice laden with heat and arousal.

It takes some maneuvering, but Fjord manages to get them across the room towards the bed, but Caleb doesn’t help - he’s busy skimming his mouth on Fjord’s throat, his tongue flicking at the skin there, teeth nipping just under his jaw.

     “Caleb,” Fjord growls a warning, but there’s a remnant of a desperate whine underneath. “Caleb, sweetheart, you’re really not making this easy for me here...”

     “I am not apologising for that.”

That makes Fjord snort. “Yeah, probably not. C’mon, hon, hey - “ He stops for a moment in mid-sentence, staring at Caleb in helpless wonder. All the rosy flush blossoming on Caleb’s freckled cheeks, causing his eyes flare sky bright and lively, his smile languid and _soft._

Fjord falters - he’s quite bad at keeping his own adoration in check.

     “Fuck, look at you,” he grunts, “should be fuckin’ illegal, looking this gorgeous. Can’t believe you allow me to touch you.”

Caleb’s eyes widen. He hasn’t expected _that._

     “Always, yes?” he murmurs and grips his arms around Fjord’s neck. “Listen to me, there is no argument about that. Not about this. I want this. With you. _Everything._ That does not change.”

He catches the broken hitch in Fjord’s breathing and then, Fjord closes distance in frantic urgency.

He crushes his mouth against Caleb’s, devouring into that warm wet heat, swallowing Caleb’s moan and together, they topple on the bed.

Forcing themselves apart to shed their clothes, they steal few kisses in between, starving for bare skin, not to be apart, _not anymore._ Finally, finally they are both naked and they come crashing together.

Caleb’s legs drop and part to accommodate Fjord moving between them, and Fjord’s gaze is heavy, starry dark with want, desire as he stares down at him like he can’t quite believe it. The pale moonlight streams through the curtains, creating gorgeous halo on their skin.

     “Damn,” he chokes, low and guttural. “ _Fuck._ You’re gonna be the death of me, Caleb.”

Caleb laughs, rich and genuine, bubbling from his throat. “Well, I hope not,” he murmurs, reaching to cradle Fjord’s jaw. “We are not done yet, not by a long shot. Right?”

     “Yeah, no, that’s not happening - good luck tryin’ to get rid of me, Caleb,” Fjord says and runs his palm on the fragile outline of Caleb’s ribcage. “Making it work, remember?”

That startles another laugh out of Caleb, stupidly shy and pleased. “ _Ja,”_ he huffs, smiling. “For making it work.”

He surges up to kiss him again, Fjord responds back, ravaging Caleb’s smiling mouth, biting and licking into that welcoming warmth. Caleb aligns his body with Fjord’s, leaving no space between them and rolling his hips back against Fjord’s. 

The white-hot fever pooled in his gut, coiled and tightened with each pulse, his breathing spilling shorter and _shorter -_

     “Fjord - please, _bitte,_ get in me _\- “_

     “You want that, huh, sweetheart?”

Caleb barely stills, his hand gripping Fjord. “Yes,” he whispers, ragged. “I do. That is what I want, I want you to fuck me.”

Fjord growls, and it’s gravelly rumble vibrates through Caleb’s own chest cavity. Fjord pulls back slightly, only for Caleb to realize he’s reaching somewhere on the ground and fishes out a small vial of oil. Caleb’s eyes snap wide open, hazy and wet at the sight of it.

It’s been a long time coming, a rather foggy part of his brain thinks. Like threads tied back into each other.

     “Oh, _gut_ ,” he murmurs, slumping back on the pillows and watching Fjord uncork the vial. He notices something intriguing. “You have - Fjord, you have _filed_ your claws?”

Fjord’s cheeks turn into an interesting shade of dark green. “Shut up,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “Didn’t want to assume, and... hurting you isn’t what I’m into.“

Tenderness blossoms in Caleb’s chest. This endearing, impossible, awkward man. “That is very sweet of you, _Schatz,”_ he murmurs and pulls Fjord closer by the back of his neck. “Thank you.”

     “Yeah...’course. Wanted this to go smoothly,” Fjord mutters, still a little flustered, but allows Caleb to press a small, sweet kiss on his lips. “You ready?”

      “Mmh.”

Fjord slicks his fingers with the oil; a whiff of something almost flowery fills the room, and Caleb relaxes. Fjord pushes his finger inside, taking great care and watching Caleb’s expressions with steady intensity.

He takes his time opening Caleb up, and by the time Fjord’s got two fingers in, Caleb’s writhing, heaving wet sobs out of his raw throat, his fingers clawing at the sheets as his hips stutter, trying to get Fjord’s fingers deeper.

The burning fervor lights in his veins, only moments away from exploding into red-hot embers and burning _everything,_ it’s too much, too many sensations tearing at his nerve-ends, blistering and beautiful, and this close, he can sense the thrum of Fjord’s energy buzzing and alive, so _vibrant in rapture_ -

     “Look at you,” Fjord rumbles, his baritone several notes deeper, marvelling him with open yearning, “you’re takin’ them so well. You’re fucking _amazing,_ Caleb, c’mon, sweetheart, you’re doing so well...”

    “Fjord, _F -_ Fjor - _oh! -_ oh, _bitte,_ please, it’s enough _\- “_

     “ - just a moment - what do you think, do you think you’re ready?”

     “I - I was ready half an _hour_ ago, you complete teas - _ah - !_ “ Caleb paws up at him blindly to drag him into another sloppy, open-mouthed kiss - it’s more teeth and tongue than lips, and Fjord combs his free hand through Caleb’s soaked hair.

He brushes his nose tenderly against Caleb’s before rising up to slick his cock with generous amount of oil. Caleb’s seen it before - Fjord is not _small_ by any definition of the word, but Caleb isn’t worried.

Fjord hooks his arms around Caleb’s thighs to haul him closer. He glances up at Caleb, and Caleb catches a turmoil of something wild, reverent and _love_ on his features. He’s a beautiful soul, Fjord.

_you ready?_

There are no words, but Caleb senses it, nonetheless. He nods.

     “Careful,” he mumbles.

Fjord steals a quick kiss. “Yeah, ‘course. I’ll go slow. You wanna stop, at any time, you tell me.”

     “Mmh-hmm. Deal. That goes for you as well.”

Fjord pinches Caleb’s thigh as a tender admonishment and settles better between his legs and lines himself up. A shiver of anticipation dances on Caleb’s skin. Fjord notices and rubs his leg in silent comfort, and Caleb thinks he might not even realize he’s doing that.

     “It’s all right,” Caleb murmurs.

     “Yeah?”

     “Hmm-mmh.”

Finally, _finally,_ with one deliberate, transfixed thrust, Fjord pushes his cock in.

Caleb’s eyes shoot open, hazy and glazed; the stretch burns deliciously in him, sending quick, electric shocks through him. Tremors wrack Fjord’s shoulders as he forces himself to stay still, letting Caleb get used to him.

It takes less time, and Caleb marvels at the full feeling. “You - you can move,” he whispers.

     “You sure?”

     “ _Ja,_ I am. Please move.” 

Glancing down at Caleb, Fjord pulls back just to ease his hips back in, and it sends white lightning rattling up to the bowstring of Caleb’s spine.

 _This is it,_ _this is it,_ he thinks in strange blurriness, this is it for him, there will be no one else but _him,_ but Fjord, just him, _him him._

     “Faster, _bitte,_ it is me, Fjord, it’s all right, do not hold back - “

Fjord doesn’t quite snarl, but the sound clawing out of his throat is similar enough.

He thrusts his hips forward hard, driving his cock even further, making Caleb feel every inch of it, the unfamiliar ridge pressing sharp ripples in his gut.

They find their rhythm, urgent and in sync, the instinctive push and pull. Every nerve in Caleb pratically sings in euphoria.

_Yes, good - this is how it’s supposed to be -_

Fjord’s aura becomes faded and foam-like around the edges, like ocean rolling in, bathing in golden red morning light - desire, relief seeps in, relief that’s not his, _there is no one else - not for Caleb -_

Desperate, he clutches at Fjord’s shoulders, clinging onto him with everything he has, arching his back into the rhythm.

The bed’s wooden frame shakes with each thrust, the headboard slamming onto the wall, the structure creaking under the pressure.

Caleb’s got barely half a mind to think about it, because the fire sears his whole being, all-consuming sweet torture. He digs his heels onto the small of Fjord’s back, forcing him even deeper and it sends shocks sparking in his mind.

     “C’mon, _c’mon,_ Caleb, you can do it, darlin’, come on - come for _me,_ that’s it - “

Their mouths collide, mashing together all messy and Fjord’s hips pick up the pace, _faster, faster,_ fucking into him with relentless succession. Caleb’s back arches into a beautiful curve, it’s so close he can taste it in the back of his throat -

With a growl, Fjord reaches between them, takes Caleb’s red, painfully hard cock into his hand and runs his thumb across the tip.

     “You can do it, Cay, _c’mon - “_

     “ _Fjord - !”_

Caleb isn’t sure who comes first.

All he knows the orgasm shakes him loose by the roots, paints his whole vision stark white. Red and dark stars pulse in the edges of _everything,_ he clenches around the hot weight in him - and struggling to breathe, he clings onto Fjord, his cheek resting on Fjord’s scarred shoulder.

     “I love you,” Fjord rasps, his fangs graze Caleb’s throat as he’s still holding Caleb, not daring to let him go on the mattress just yet. “I _love_ you so damn much.”

     “ - you too,” Caleb murmurs, his voice choked and raw. He feels dizzy, drunk on the endorphins making him languid in familiar embrace. “I love you too. So very much.”

They share one more kiss, syrupy-slow and gentle, this time enjoying the new-found intimacy.

Fjord falls back on the bed, and Caleb follows suit, curling on his chest. Fjord wounds his hand automatically into Caleb’s auburn curls, absently running the strands between his fingers.

     “Welcome back home,” Caleb murmurs.

     “Thanks, s’good to be back. You’re amazing.”

     “Mmh. Debatable.”

     “You are, and it’s not up for one.”

Caleb laughs. It’s freeing, breathless. “You are being very stubborn, _Schatz,”_ he says fondly, running his hand on Fjord’s chest, marvelling the difference between scars and skin.

     “Yep. You knew that, even before the altar,” Fjord says, turning his head to press his lips on Caleb’s hair. 

     “Oh, I think I knew it before Zadash.”

     “Is that - ? Wait, does that mean the High Richtor’s house? _Caleb - ”_

But Caleb’s lips curl into a soft smile. “ _Nein,_ it does _not,_ would you calm down? I did not mean it like that.” He leans in to kiss him again, slow and sweet. “Thank you.”

Fjord gazes up at him, and he’s cracked open to Caleb. “And... you’re happy?” he asks, the question catching in his throat. “You’d tell me if you weren’t?”

_This man._

Caleb runs his fingertip gently on the scar on Fjord’s lip. “Yes,” he says quietly. “I would. But I am happy now. Very much so.” With an unsteady inhale, Fjord covers Caleb’s hand with his own and closes his eyes. “And you would tell me, too?”

     “Yeah,” Fjord says, his voice a raw crackle. “I would. In a heartbeat.”

     “Good.”

They settle back on the bed, Caleb running his fingers down to Fjord’s clavicle. “You were quite impossible, Fjord,” he says, with good, quiet humour. “Making me fall in love with you like that.”  

The way Fjord’s face lights up makes everything worth it.

     “Yeah?”

     “I know, it was a surprise to me, too.”

     “...Yeah, well, you know, you got me, too. Like big time. With your fancy magic tricks, what a cheap move to pull, Widogast,” Fjord says grinning and eyes sparkling. It’s a very dear sight.

With gentle hands, Fjord grabs Caleb and moves him to straddle his hips. “And I love you, too. Just for the record.”

Caleb smiles back.

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been pretty sick for a week and a half now so I'm sorry for not responding to all messages - I've read every single one and every single one has made me so happy. But I've finished this! I'm pretty happy. Sure, it's not perfect, but I had fun writing it and if you had fun reading it, then my job's done :D 
> 
> Thank you for joining on this ride with me and sticking till the end and being so sweet and kind to me, I appreciate everyone of you so much. THANK YOU! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! <3  
> Come say hello at vannral.tumblr.com!  
> (also if you see any grammar mistakes or stuff like that, pls tell me, i'm not a native speaker and I always wanna improve!)


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